The Blue Hour
by twistedkey
Summary: Beaufort Swan moves to Forks to flee his demons and start fresh. But once he meets the mysterious and alluring Edward Cullen, life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn. AU.
1. Flight

But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.

Genesis 2:17

* * *

_Preface_

Beau never gave much thought to how he would die—though he had reason enough in the last few months—but even if he had, he would not have imagined it like this.

Beau stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and the hunter looked pleasantly back.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone he loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

Beau knew that if he'd never gone to Forks, he wouldn't be facing death now. But, terrified as he was, he couldn't bring himself to regret the decision. When life offered a dream so far beyond his expectations, it was not reasonable to grieve when it came to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill him.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Port Angeles. Please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until we reach the gate."

The pilot thanked the passengers for joining her on the flight. She added that the temperature was a crisp thirty-three degrees and a thunderstorm was expected later in the afternoon. No one seemed bothered or perplexed by this information, no one but the tall boy in the fourth row of the plane.

Beau peered through the window at the tiny airport below and shivered. Thirty-three degrees was a world away from the dry heat he left behind. He pulled the zipper up to his chin. The cold was tangible even through the thick layers of his parka.

His mother eyed that parka all the way through Sky Harbor International, her gaze flickering restlessly between it and the vintage blue and gold Mariners cap on his head. When the two reached the security line, Renée let out a long sigh.

"You look like Charlie with that hat."

"Might have to change my look," Beau said in mock seriousness. "In a town that small, people might get the two of us confused."

"You have no idea."

"Ha ha."

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that Renée and Beau escaped when he was only a few months old.

It was to Forks that Beau now exiled himself—an action that, once upon a time, he took with great horror. But in the past year, the memory of the isolated Forks had become a tantalizing oasis. His own personal escape route. Past Beau detested Forks; today, it was a layover to the rest of his life. The town was to be his hideout for the next eighteen months. It was in Forks that he could put the past behind him and start again.

"Beau," Renée said—the last of a thousand times—before he got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

Beau had stared into her wide, childlike eyes. He wasn't sure exactly when he outstripped his mother in height, but now, he towered over her. His stomach twisted with indecision. How could he leave his loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still . . .

"I want to go," he told her. "It's just something I have to do."

They both knew it had to be this way. But knowing that didn't make this goodbye any easier. It felt so final—it felt like an ending. Renée pulled him into a hug, her blue eyes shut against his chest. Beau knew it was so he couldn't see the tears in them.

She carried a lot of guilt these days, despite his best efforts to convince her otherwise.

"Mom," he said gently. "Don't worry about me. It'll be great. I love you."

"Love you more. Call me when you land, okay?"

Renée had hugged him tightly for another minute, sighed, and then she was gone.

It was a three hour journey from Phoenix to Seattle. Beau had a short layover until his next flight to Port Angeles, and dutifully found a payphone bank to call his mother, as promised. He knew she planned to spend the afternoon packing up their house.

Beau almost smiled. They both were fleeing Arizona.

He dug through his pockets for change and dialed their home phone number. It rang and rang until the machine picked up. The new message—the one that now included Phil—chirped in his ear.

Beau hung up and carefully replaced the receiver. He could not afford to lose his nerve.

The passengers exited the plane directly onto the tarmac. Above, the overcast sky rumbled, hinting at the thunderstorm to come. Beau didn't see it as an omen—just unavoidable. He'd already said his goodbyes to the sun.

Beau found his father in uniform and leaning against the cruiser. Charlie Swan was the police chief to the good people of Forks. Beau threw him a salute before the two exchanged an awkward hug. When they let go, Beau realized he'd grown past Charlie, too.

He only had a few bags. Most of the clothes he brought from Arizona were too light for Washington. Renée and Beau had pooled their money together for the parka, but he would need more options if he planned to survive the rest of the winter season. Everything fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

Charlie had been really nice about the move. He seemed genuinely pleased that Beau was coming to live with him full time for the first time ever. He'd already registered him for high school and was going to help Beau find a car.

Beau was eager to tackle this problem before it started. He'd sooner walk in the rain than get dropped off with the red and blues flashing. Nothing slowed down traffic like a cop.

"It's good to see you, Beau," Charlie said as they got on the road. "You're taller. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." He wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

"Phil having any luck getting signed?"

"Not yet, but they're going to Florida soon. They're hoping to meet some scouts there."

"Scouts be coming to _your_ games before long," Charlie was confident in the way only a father could be. "Now that you've recovered, anyway. The season starts in a few months."

"Right." Beau stared at his lap as he spoke. He flexed the fingers of his right hand, experimenting, and felt the slight answering twinge of pain. The bones had long healed, but the memory of the break remained.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap."

Beau was wary. "What kind of car?"

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black, down at La Push? He used to go fishing with us during the summer."

La Push was part of the Quileute Indian Reservation on the coast. Beau remembered the painfully boring hours spent in a Boston Whaler watching his father and Billy wait for fish that never seemed to bite. That all came to a stop when Beau put his foot down at fourteen. These past three summers, father and son vacationed in California for two weeks instead.

"Sure, how's he doing?"

"He's in a wheelchair now so he can't drive anymore. He offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" Beau could see from the change of expression that this was a question Charlie hoped he wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine—it's only a few years old, really."

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

Beau never thought he would long for the Valley Metro system. "Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties—or late fifties at the earliest," Charlie admitted sheepishly.

"Ch—Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic . . . "

"Really, Beau, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

_The thing_, Beau thought. _It had possibilities, as a nickname, at the very least._

"How cheap is cheap?" He had some money left over from the summer, but not much. Not enough for a car, even one as old as that.

"Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at him with a hopeful expression.

This unexpected kindness was almost too much. It had been a long few months of anxiety, frequent debating with Renée, and mounting panic at the thought of moving in with a man he saw just once a year.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad," Beau said when he found his voice again. He hoped he did not sound ungrateful. "I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Like a lot of men, Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. This, other than their looks, was something the Swans had in common.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by the thanks.

They exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for the rest of the ride. The two stared out the windows in silence. Renée was the chatty one, the yin to the Swan yang. Beau missed his mother. She'd know exactly how to move past the uncomfortable moments.

Forks was beautiful, of course; Beau couldn't deny that. It was just as he remembered. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. It was the complete opposite of the arid Phoenix climate he used to love.

The town was too green—it was an alien planet.

Eventually they made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house from the early days of his marriage to Renée. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones.

There, parked on the street in front of the unchanging house, was his new—well, new to him—truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To his intense surprise, Beau loved it. He didn't know if it would run, but he could see himself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never got damaged—the kind one saw at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!"

Beau meant it. He never had a car in Phoenix; he almost always rode the bus and borrowed Renée's old Nissan only when necessary, never putting more than five bucks in the tank at a time. He thought this beast might need a little more than that.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took just one trip to get all his stuff upstairs. Beau got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar—the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the gingham curtains around the window—these were all a part of his childhood. The only changes Charlie made were switching the crib for a bed as Beau grew and adding a desk. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from Renée so they could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from his baby days sat in the corner. Even his aluminum bat from Little League was still tucked under the bed, undisturbed.

Beau went into his duffel bag, rescued the two plants he brought from Phoenix, and set them on the windowsill. The rosette succulent and tiny cactus wouldn't get much sunlight in Forks; he'd have to buy a fluorescent lamp to keep them alive. He was determined that something from the desert would thrive here, even if he didn't.

He and Charlie would have to share the small bathroom at the top of the stairs. Beau worried about this at first, but he found it to be neater than the one he shared with his mother at home. This sink looked empty without her makeup and hair products. Beau was forever organizing and reorganizing their bathroom; he supposed that responsibility would now fall to Phil.

One of the best things about Charlie was that he didn't hover. He left Beau alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for Renée. It was nice to be alone, even for a few moments, to study the sheeting rain now hitting the windows, and prepare himself for what lay in store for him at school.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students. This number was staggering. The junior class back home in Phoenix had more than seven hundred people alone. All of these Forks kids had grown up together. Beau would be the new kid from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Come Monday, Beau would be the newest addition to Forks High School, and most likely the only gay one for miles.

Small towns and the rumor mill. Beau knew this the moment he decided to move here. Maybe if he was fully out, like the guys on _Queer as Folk_, he might have developed a thicker skin. Out and proud, as they say. Maybe if he had the courage to come out earlier, make a big thing of it, the news wouldn't have come as such a surprise to his teammates. They wouldn't have done what they did and he'd still be living in Phoenix.

It was a gamble, coming to Forks, but he had nowhere else to go.

Beau didn't relate well to people his age. Maybe the truth was that he didn't relate well to people, period. Even his mother, who he was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with him, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes Beau wondered if he was seeing the same things through his eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in his brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

It was only for eighteen months. After graduation, he could flee to a D-I college in Florida, be scouted for the big leagues, then play for the Rays or Marlins. He just had to get through eighteen months. Eighteen months of rain in exchange for a lifetime under the sun.

Beau was too nervous to eat the pizza Charlie ordered and excused himself for the night. True to form, his father left him alone. A few minutes later, the sound of _60 Minutes _drifted up the stairs. Beau closed the door to the noise and sighed.

All the important tasks were done. The bags were unpacked, clothes laid out, car keys waiting on the old pine dresser. Even the handful of books he brought were put away. There was nothing else to do but sleep.

Beau tossed and turned in the too-small bed, his feet hanging off the end. Finally, when the rain at last quieted to a drizzle, he drifted off.

* * *

**A/N**: Hey y'all! I'm back!

It's been quite a long time since I've posted a story. To fill you in, I graduated college, got a big girl job, made questionable choices - you know, the usual life stuff. During that time I was also reading fics, while trying to write both fanfic and my original works. Twific and the recent fandom renaissance has been a real comfort to me, and I'm very glad to be posting again. This story is 100% prewritten and will post every week. Please enjoy this _Twilight_ retelling with a few twists. ;)


	2. Impressions

The next morning, a pallid, sallow face stared back at him from the mirror. Despite the shower and a shave, Beau still looked exhausted. The rain returned before dawn; it seemed that even nature was working against him today.

Beau tilted his face this way and that, tracing the new, slight crookedness of his nose, forcing his thoughts away from the night it was broken. That was all behind him now. Here, with his new start, it could be an interesting, charming quirk of his rather than a badge of shame.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. The chief was up early, scrambling eggs and frying bacon, all before his son even rolled out of bed. Beau raised an appreciative eyebrow when the plate was set in front of him. He had grown used to skipping breakfast all together, eating a big lunch at school, then snacking in the afternoon until practice. This was a nice change.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Sure, kiddo. You'll need it for your first day."

The chief wished him good luck on his way out the door. Beau thanked him, knowing this hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid him.

Beau sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined the kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nope. Nothing had changed. He knew his mother had been the one who painted the cabinets in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Maybe he would continue her work if he had nothing else to do, which, in a town this tiny, seemed like a given.

Beau stood and washed his plate at the sink. When that was done, he moved into the living room, studying the pictures over the small fireplace. The row of them began with his parents' wedding photo, continued to a family portrait the night he was born, and, embarrassingly, concluded with his school pictures up until last year. His T-ball photo was at the center, featuring a younger Beau (minus his two front teeth), beaming at the camera.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over Renée. Growing up, Beau pinned it on the lack of available women his age in Forks. But now he knew it was something else entirely and that was too bad. His father was still young. Renée had found love again; maybe one day, Charlie would, too.

Beau knew he could no longer delay the inevitable. He donned his parka and Mariners cap, then hurried to the truck—that, in the moment, he decided to name Big Red—where the interior was warm and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. Beau thought these scents gave the truck character.

The engine started quickly, roaring to life, then idling at top volume. The antique radio worked, a plus that he hadn't expected.

His school in Phoenix had the feel of an institution. They had plenty of funding to install the best security in the area. Chain-link fences and metal detectors were as ubiquitous as the cameras dotting the corners. But none of these things were present at Forks High School. The school itself, which was slightly rundown, had been sectioned off into a handful of identical brick buildings. Beau parked in front of the one marked Front Office and cut the engine.

The interior was warmer than he expected, brightly-lit, with big, leafy plants he disliked immediately. Too high maintenance. His desert succulents were far superior.

The office was staffed by an older woman wearing glasses. Her eyes flicked upwards as he approached. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Beau Swan," he said carefully, watching the recognition light her eyes. He was expected, already the subject of gossip. Son of the chief's flighty ex-wife, home at last. The woman introduced herself as Ms. Cope.

"Of course, Beaufort, I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school."

"Beau, please," he mumbled as color flooded his cheeks. _Beaufort_ was the protagonist of a romance novel Renée discovered in her short tenure as the chief's wife. She dove into books to sate her loneliness, and soon, inspiration struck. Other than the decidedly old-fashioned name, she gave Beau a love of books that was rivaled only by playing baseball.

Ms. Cope helpfully went through his schedule. She highlighted the best route to each class on the map, then gave him a slip each teacher had to sign, which he was to return at the end of the day. She smiled and hoped, like Charlie, that Beau would like it here in Forks. He smiled back as convincingly as he could.

Other students were starting to arrive when he returned to the truck. Beau got in and followed the line of traffic around the school. He was glad to see that most of the cars were older, like Big Red, nothing flashy. At home, Beau and Renée lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, he cut the engine as soon as he was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention.

Beau studied the map for a moment, trying to memorize it now to avoid overusing it later. Here his grand plan seemed to fall apart around his ears. Gripped by a sudden panic, he held the steering wheel with shaking hands. The irony of running away to a small town to _hide_, only to be noticed by everyone _immediately_, hit him in the stomach like a punch.

_I can do this_, he lied to himself. _Eighteen months. It's only eighteen months. No one is going to bite me._

Beau wished this march to class came with a walk-up song. All the pros in the MLB had them. He considered his favorites as he went, disappearing effortlessly into the sea of arriving students. Once inside the classroom, he hung up his jacket, removed his Mariners cap, and quickly smoothed down the hair underneath.

Mr. Mason gawked when he saw the name, but fortunately, sent Beau to an empty desk without introducing him to the class. It was harder for his new classmates to stare at him in the back of the room, but somehow, they managed. He kept his eyes on the reading list. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. He'd already read everything. That was comforting . . . and boring. Beau wondered if his mother would send him the folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. Renée was a teacher and had a moral code about these things. He mentally went through different arguments they might have about it while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a gangly boy leaned across the aisle. "You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?"

He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type, but Beau was grateful that his first interaction with a classmate was a friendly one. "Yep, I'm Beau."

Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look. "Where's your next class?"

"Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way . . . I'm Eric," he added.

"Thanks."

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" Eric asked as they walked. A couple of people were following close behind them, as if trying to hear every word. Beau felt his neck burning at the attention. His mother had given him a haircut a few days before he left home, and he missed the extra inches, if only to hide the evidence of his embarrassment.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" Eric wondered.

"Sunny."

"You don't look very tan."

Beau used to be tan all the time. His skin always warmed to a golden brown after hours of practice in the sun. Then he spent this past summer hiding out in his house, leaving only for grocery shopping and the occasional shift at Phil's father's moving company.

"My mother is part albino," Beau said, realizing too late that Eric missed the joke completely. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and he'd forget how to use sarcasm.

Beau forced himself to smile; he didn't want to come off like a jerk. First impressions were everything.

"Well, good luck. Maybe we'll have some other classes together."

The rest of the morning was about the same. The Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who Beau would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made him stand in front of the class and introduce himself. It reminded him of the evenings he spent on the pitcher's mound, with the batter, catcher, umpire, and crowds staring at him. Waiting for the pitch—waiting for his next move. He took a deep breath and delivered.

Beau started to recognize several people as the day wore on. There was usually someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask questions about how he was liking Forks. He tried to be diplomatic, but mostly just lied a lot, which he was used to doing by now. At least he never needed the map.

A curly-headed girl who sat next to him in Trigonometry and Spanish took it upon herself to give him a tour. He followed her to the cafeteria for lunch, smiling and nodding as she prattled on their teachers, classes, and the best places in town to hang out. He didn't try to keep up; she seemed content just to have an audience.

They went through the lunch line and soon joined a full table of her friends. Beau tried in vain to remember all their names. The group seemed impressed by the curly-headed girl's bravery in bringing Beau into the fold. The boy from English, Eric, waved at him from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that Beau first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at him, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught and held his attention.

Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. He reminded Beau of the Army recruiters who perched in the hallways at Phoenix. The second boy was leaner, leonine, with honey blond hair. The last had a lanky build and a head of untidy bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was the type one saw on _Sports Illustrated_, the kind that made everyone, Beau included, take a hit on their self-esteem just by being in the same room. The short girl was pixielike, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short, and pointing in every direction.

And yet, the five were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than him, the alleged part-albino. They all had very dark eyes and dark shadows under those eyes—purplish, bruiselike shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose; Beau knew that feeling intimately. Though their noses, like the rest of their features, were straight, perfect, and angular.

But all this was not why he couldn't look away. He stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces one never expected to see except on the airbrushed pages of a magazine. Or perhaps painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful—maybe the perfect blonde girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

Definitely him. Beau was unable to tear his eyes away from that one.

They were all looking away—away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular. As he watched, the small girl rose with her tray—unopened soda, unbitten apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful gait. Beau watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than he would have thought possible. His eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are _they_?" Beau asked the girl from Spanish class, whose name he still did not remember. He picked up his own apple and took a bite, wondering why the small girl had thrown hers away. This one, at least, was delicious.

As she looked up to see who he meant—though already knowing, probably, from the tone—suddenly the boy looked at him, the boyish one, possibly the youngest. He looked at the girl for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to Beau's.

He looked away quicker than Beau could. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest—it was as if his name had been called, and he'd looked up as an involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife."

Beau glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet, it appeared that he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, he thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. That _he _had. But maybe that was in vogue here, small town names? He finally remembered that his neighbor was called Jessica. That was a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in his history class back home.

"They are . . . very nice-looking." Beau struggled with what he assumed was the understatement of the year.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all _together_ though—Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they _live_ together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town. But if he was being honest, it would have caused gossip, even in Phoenix.

"Which ones are the Cullens? They don't look related . . . "

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins—the blondes—and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children." The Cullens were nothing like the foster family that lived next door to him and Renée in Phoenix. Beau had seen many come and go as he grew up, while they waited for the state to decide their next steps. He played streetball with a few of the boys over the years, making himself a darling of Mrs. Santos, who was all too happy to send over plates of food for his trouble.

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted. She seemed reluctant to agree even about something as selfless as that.

Beau got the impression that Jessica didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, he thought she might have been jealous of them. It was hard not to be, though. Not everyone looked that perfect in high school. He touched the bridge of his nose self-consciously at the thought.

"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," Jessica added, as if that lessened their kindness.

His eyes kept flickering to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat. "Have they always lived in Forks?"

Surely Beau would have noticed them on one of his summers here, in passing at one of the few restaurants the town had, or maybe on one of the baseball diamonds where he and Charlie played endless rounds of catch. The youngest one looked quick on his feet. A shortstop, perhaps.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like him. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

Beau felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, and clearly not accepted by the other students. Relief that he wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. People would move on from him soon enough, which was exactly how he wanted it.

As he examined the Cullens, the youngest looked up and met his gaze, this time with evident curiosity. As Beau looked away swiftly, it seemed that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?" Beau kept his voice casual. The boy was still staring, but not gawking like the other students had today—he had a slightly frustrated expression.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but totally stuck-up. Apparently no one in Forks is good enough for him." She sniffed.

Beau wondered what made him earn her displeasure. A romantic rejection? A joke taken the wrong way?

Edward's face was turned away now, but his cheek appeared lifted, as if he was smiling.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They all were noticeably graceful—even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edward didn't look toward them again.

Beau sat at the table with Jessica and her friends for the rest of lunch. One of the girls, Angela, had Biology II with him the next hour. The two walked to class together in companionable silence. She was shy, too.

When they entered the classroom, Beau removed his Mariners cap, too-used to teachers asking him to remove it. He watched Angela go sit at a black-topped lab table, where she already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, Beau recognized Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting beside the only available seat.

As Beau walked down the aisle to get the slip signed, he watched Edward surreptitiously. Just as he passed, Edward suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared with the strangest expression on his face—it was hostile, furious. Beau looked away in shock. He stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch himself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

His eyes were black—coal black.

Mr. Banner signed the slip and handed him a book with no nonsense about introductions. Beau could tell they were going to get along. Of course, Mr. Banner had no choice but to send him to the one open seat in the middle of the room—the one next to Edward Cullen. Beau looked down as he sat, bewildered by the antagonistic stare waiting for him.

Edward's posture changed at once. He leaned away, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Unsettled, Beau sniffed the collar of his t-shirt. All he detected was the Irish Spring he used this morning—Charlie's preferred brand of soap. It seemed like an innocent enough odor.

Beau tried to pay attention, but the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something he'd already studied. He couldn't stop himself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to him. During the whole class, Edward never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair. His hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. The sleeves of his white shirt were pushed up to his elbows, and his forearms were surprisingly hard and muscular under the light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because Beau was waiting for that tight fist to loosen? It never did; Edward continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing.

What was wrong with him? Beau questioned his earlier judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch. Maybe she was not as resentful as he thought. Maybe Edward just weird, or had some kind of chemical imbalance. Socially awkward or something.

_It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Adam._

Beau peeked one more time and regretted it instantly. Edward was glaring at him again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As Beau flinched, the phrase if _looks could kill_ suddenly ran through his mind. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making him jump, and Edward was already on his feet. Fluidly he rose—he was much taller than he appeared—and was gone before anyone else was out of their seat.

Beau sat frozen in the chair, trying to quell the surge of panic he felt. Did Edward know something about him? Had he figured it out?

Beau knew his type. Once boys like that knew Beau was gay, all bets were off. The silent treatment, pranks, harassment, slurs, hazing—Beau felt his right hand curl into a fist at the onslaught of memories—he'd experienced it all. He supposed he should have expected this reaction, but not so soon. Not on the first day.

It wasn't fair. Beau gathered his things and tried to extinguish the anger rising in his chest. The whole point of moving here was to reinvent himself, but exactly one day in, he was already failing at it.

"Aren't you Beaufort Swan?"

A blond guy stood at the end of the table. His hair was gelled into those tragic spikes that everyone but Beau seemed to like. But he had a friendly face.

"Beau," he corrected him, shaking the outstretched hand, but inwardly, Beau's mind was elsewhere.

"I'm Mike."

"Hey, Mike."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." It wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

Mike supplied most of the conversation along the way. Beau let himself relax, inch by inch, grateful to listen rather than talk for the time being. Then the subject returned to his new lab partner.

"So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

Beau shook his head. "Is that normal for him? We didn't say two words to each other."

"He's a weird guy. Anyway, don't take it too personally, man, they treat everyone like that."

_They_ again. The Cullens. He was beginning to understand their social unpopularity.

Mike pointed to the Mariners cap. "Do you play?"

"Some," Beau nodded politely. "Pitcher."

"Me too," Mike laughed. "Couldn't hurt to have a backup."

Beau didn't miss the territorial edge in his voice. He shrugged and tried to sound offhand.

"I don't know if I have the time to play, honestly. I still have to catch up on the semester, you know?"

That seemed to placate his new friend. Mike launched into a play-by-play of the last season as they walked, oblivious to Beau's growing hesitation. He swallowed as they passed across the threshold into the gym. The other boy darted into the locker room with clear enthusiasm. Beau stood, studying that door, until someone brushed past and pulled him out of his reverie. The door was painted blue and gold, just like his hat, and he took some comfort in it.

_There was nothing to be afraid of_, Beau scolded himself as he searched through his bag for the slip. _It's not the same._

Coach Clapp shook his hand vigorously when they met. He and Charlie had gone to high school together, Clapp explained, often teaming up in this very gym. Beau smiled, amused, knowing this was probably the case for most of the parents of his classmates. It was the type of town that people stayed in forever.

Clapp signed his form but didn't make him suit up. That was a pity; Beau might have braved the locker room if it meant spiking a volleyball and pretending it was his deskmate's head.

When Beau returned to the office, he fought the urge to turn around and walk right back out. Edward Cullen was there, arguing with Ms. Cope in a low, attractive voice. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology—the class they shared together—to any other time.

Beau felt his jaw drop. He couldn't believe this was about him. It had to be something else, something that happened _before_ he went to Biology. The look on Edward's face must have been about another aggravation entirely; Beau was just casualty of his bad day. It was impossible that this stranger could take such an intense dislike to a person he didn't know.

Edward turned suddenly, noticing his presence, and stared at Beau with piercing, hate-filled eyes. A thrill of genuine fear went through him. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled him more than a freezing wind. Edward turned back to Ms. Cope.

"Never mind, then. I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help."

Beau dropped his gaze and waited for the eventual slam of the office door. Ms. Cope, surprisingly unperturbed, waved him over. "How did your first day go, dear?"

"Fine," he murmured, removing his hat respectfully in her presence. The visor twisted like it always did in his hands, stubbornly refusing to lose its shape. "Just fine."

Big Red was the the last car in the lot. He was grateful; the truck was a haven in this damp green hole. Beau sat inside until he was cold enough to need the heater. He turned the key and soon the engine roared to life.

Beau headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for reading!


	3. By Reputation

The next day was better . . . and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because Beau knew the drill, and what to expect from his day. Mike came to sit with him in English, and walked with him to the next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring all the while.

People didn't look at him quite as much as they had yesterday. Beau sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people from class. It was nice they tried to make him feel welcome here. He began to feel like he was treading water instead of drowning in it.

But it was worse because he was tired; he had struggled to sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on him in Trigonometry and he had the wrong answer. And it was worse because Edward Cullen wasn't in school at all.

All morning he dreaded going to lunch. Beau was sure he'd be on the receiving end of more bizarre glares, more hate-filled tension. Part of him wanted to confront Edward and demand to know what his problem was. While lying sleepless in bed, Beau even imagined what he would say, how he would puff out his chest and suddenly, for the first time in his life, become an intimidating presence. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. He wanted to blend in here. Fighting with a classmate would just get him into trouble, and he didn't want to embarrass Charlie.

Yet when he walked into the cafeteria with Jessica—trying to keep his eyes from darting around and failing entirely—Beau saw that the four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and Edward was not with them.

Mike intercepted them and steered the way to his table. Jessica seemed elated to stand between the two boys, and her friends quickly joined their group. Beau tried to listen to their easy chatter, but he was uncomfortable while he anticipated Edward's arrival. Beau hoped Edward would decide to ignore his existence and prove his suspicions false. But he didn't come, and as time passed, Beau grew more and more tense.

Beau walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, he still hadn't showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by his side to class.

When they arrived, Edward Cullen wasn't there yet. Beau exhaled and went to his seat. Mike followed, still discussing an upcoming trip to the beach. Beau nodded politely. In a town like this, where everyone lived in close quarters, diplomacy was essential. Beau had a feeling Mike only befriended him for his novelty rather than for a real friendship. But Mike was popular and that alone could provide a certain . . . protection. It was in his best interest, Beau decided, to play nice.

Edward never showed up to Biology. Beau couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that _he_ was the reason for the absence. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that he could affect anyone that strongly. And yet he couldn't stop worrying that it was true.

When the day finally ended, Beau hurried to the parking lot, trying to banish these thoughts from his mind. He planned to hit the Thriftway for groceries, after discovering last night that scrambled eggs and bacon were the only things Charlie knew how to make. Beau used to cook all the time at home, and in an odd way, he was happy to take this responsibility again. It made him feel needed here.

As Beau fired up the engine, he saw the Cullens and Hales getting into their car, which was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. Expensive car, expensive clothes, and yet, they still weren't well-liked in Forks. They looked at the noisy truck as it passed, just like everyone else. Beau kept his eyes forward and felt relief when he was off the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. The store was big enough inside that he couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the roof. He pushed the cart up and down the aisles aimlessly, trying to kill time.

After he started dinner, Beau set up the fluorescent lamp he'd bought for his succulents, then gave them a tiny dose of water. The plants looked peaky, but he was confident the lamp would coax some growth out of them. He was from the desert, and seemed to be settling in; his succulents would inevitably do the same.

At the thought of the desert, he realized he had yet to check his e-mail. There were three messages waiting in his inbox.

_Beau,_

_Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. We'll be in Florida by the end of next week._

_Mom_

Beau sighed and moved onto the next one. It was sent eight hours after the first.

_Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for?_

The last was from this morning.

_Beaufort, _

_If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Charlie._

Beau glanced at the clock. He still had an hour, but Renée was well known for jumping the gun.

_Mom, _

_Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash. _

_Beau_

He sent that, and began again.

_Mom, _

_Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive; we're reading the same books as last semester. I met some nice kids who sit with me at lunch. _

_Your blouse is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up on Friday. _

_Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. _

_I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. _

_Beau_

He decided to reread _Wuthering Heights _for something to do. By the time Charlie came home, he was taking the potatoes out and putting the steak in to broil.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, bud," Charlie said as he hung up the gun belt and stepped out of his boots.

Charlie kept his gun at the ready, but as far as Beau knew, he never had any reason to fire it while on the job. When Beau visited as a child, his father would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. Beau guessed Charlie thought he was old enough now not to shoot himself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot himself on purpose.

Not yet, at least. Beau and his mother had kept Charlie in the dark about the incident last year.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Renée was an imaginative cook and her experiments weren't always edible. Beau was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes."

His father looked relieved and busied himself setting the table. When that was done, he drifted to the living room until dinner was ready. The two Swans sat together quietly as they ate. Beau thought they were starting to be more like roommates than father and son. It was an easier transition than he anticipated.

"This is great, Beau."

"Thanks."

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?"

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this guy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid—nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."

_Sporting goods._ Beau thought about the equipment he left behind in Phoenix. He left his glove, his cleats . . . everything. All of it would need to be replaced if he wanted to join the team here. It was January; the baseball season was still a couple months away. Beau wasn't sure if he was ready to play again. His right hand twinged at the thought.

"Do you know the Cullen family?" It was the first question he could think of that didn't go back to baseball.

"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."

"They . . . the kids . . . are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

This comment seemed to anger Charlie. "People in this town . . . Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work anywhere in the world and make ten times what he does here. Forks is lucky to have him. He's an _asset_ to the community. Those kids are very mature, I've never had any trouble from them, which is more than I can say for some of your classmates."

"What do people—"

"Oh, this and that, unfriendliness or something," the chief shrugged. "They stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend . . . they're newcomers and people have to talk, I suppose."

It was the longest speech he'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel very strongly about whatever people were saying.

"They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive."

He nearly spit out the word _nice_, but Charlie didn't seem to notice. "You should see the doctor. It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around."

The two lapsed back into silence as they finished eating. Beau washed the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—and went upstairs to do his math homework.

The night was finally quiet. He fell asleep and slept soundly for the first time.

The rest of his week was uneventful. Beau counted a small victory when he forced himself to walk into the boys' locker room, to no adverse effects. But he kept his eyes cast down as he changed into the gym uniform; he knew better now.

By Friday he was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at Forks High.

Edward Cullen didn't come back to school.

Beau would watch the lunchroom door every day. Once the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without their youngest brother, he could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around the trip to La Push that Mike was putting together. Beau was invited, and agreed to go, more out of politeness than real desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday, he was perfectly comfortable entering Biology, no longer worried that Edward would be there. For all he knew, the guy had dropped out, and that wasn't Beau's problem. Maybe Dr. Cullen sent him to a boarding school for kids with behavioral problems.

Beau tried not to think about Edward, but he couldn't totally suppress the worry that he was responsible for his continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

His first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, spent most of the weekend at the station. Beau cleaned, got ahead on homework, and wrote his mother more bogusly cheerful e-mails. He drove to the town library on Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that he didn't bother to get a card. He would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. Beau wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got and shuddered at the thought. The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so he was able to sleep well.

It was colder on Monday morning, but happily not raining. People greeted him in the parking lot as he passed. Beau didn't know all their names, but he waved back anyway and smiled. It was a strange sensation for him, a routine he wasn't sure he would get used to. Back in Phoenix, Beau got along with everyone without being close to anyone. Now he had people nearly following him around, like Mike, who was still clearly enjoying the social capital by association. Beau only let him because the association worked both ways.

All in all, Beau was feeling a lot more comfortable than he expected that morning. As he and Mike walked out of English, the air was full of swirling bits of white. People began to shout excitedly to one another. The wind bit at their cheeks and noses.

"Wow," Mike said. "It's snowing."

"Ew." Snow. There went his good day.

"Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means it's too cold for rain. Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like Q-tips."

Mike was incredulous. "Dude, haven't you ever seen snow fall before?"

"Sure, on television."

A snowball sailed past Beau and nailed Mike squarely in the head. Beau excused himself and continued onto his next class, irritated by the shift in weather. The snow promised a snarly commute home and shoveling the driveway, both of which he wasn't looking forward to doing. When lunch rolled around, he glanced toward _that_ table in the corner out of habit, then froze where he stood.

There were five people at the table.

Jessica tugged on his arm. "Hello? Beau? What do you want?"

"What's with him?" Mike asked Jessica.

Beau was still staring across the cafeteria, rooted in one spot. Then he recovered and shook his head.

"Nothing, I'll just get a soda today."

The other two raised their eyebrows. In the short time since he arrived, Beau never skipped lunch because it hit him later in Gym, when he needed the calories the most. Clapp had been delighted at his energy in the past few days. It was almost funny—no matter how much he tried to hide, people still noticed him.

Once the group was seated, Beau decided to permit himself a furtive glance at the Cullen family's table. If _he_ was glaring, Beau would skip Biology, like the coward he knew himself to be.

They were laughing. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Alice and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of the students.

Aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, but Beau couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was. He examined Edward the most carefully. His skin was less pale—flushed from the snow fight maybe—and the circles under his eyes were much less noticeable today. But there was something more, and he couldn't put his finger on it. Beau pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Beau, what are you staring at?"

At that precise moment, Edward's eyes flashed over to meet his. Beau was sure, in the instant their eyes met, that he didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica giggled, her hand lingering on his arm.

Beau allowed her hand stay there for the moment. He was slightly ashamed to let himself pass as straight in this manner, but his self-preservation instincts were working overtime. Let Jessica have her little crush—it would never go anywhere.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?"

"No, should he?"

Beau shrugged. "I don't think he likes me."

"The Cullens don't like anybody . . . well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still staring at you."

"Let's change the subject," he muttered, turning to Mike, who was in the middle of discussing an after school snowball fight extravaganza.

Beau kept his eyes on his soda for the rest of lunch. He decided to honor the bargain he made with himself. Since Edward didn't look angry, he would go to Biology as planned.

Beau was relieved to see an empty table when he stepped into the classroom. Mr. Banner was distributing one microscope and box of slides to each desk. Class didn't start for a few minutes, so the room buzzed with conversation. Beau kept his eyes away from the door and doodled on the cover of his notebook.

He heard very clearly when the neighboring chair moved, but his eyes stayed focused on the pattern he was drawing. _Eighteen months, eighteen months, eighteen months . . . _

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

Beau looked up. Edward Cullen was sitting as far away as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled toward Beau today. His hair was dripping wet, disheveled—even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."

"H-how do you know my name?"

Edward laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

"No . . . " Beau fumbled with this train of thought. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"

"Do you prefer Beaufort?"

"No, I like Beau," he said stupidly. "But I think Charlie—I mean my dad—must call me Beaufort behind my back—because that's what everyone here seems to know me as."

"Oh."

Beau turned away, mortified. He spent days rehearsing this moment, and true to form, he had failed miserably. He turned his attention to the lab instructions. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as partners, they had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis represented, then label them accordingly. No books allowed. In twenty minutes, Mr. Banner would be coming around to see who had it right.

"You first, partner?" Edward asked. Beau looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that he could only stare back like an idiot.

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded; he was obviously wondering if Beau was mentally competent. At this point in time, he was not.

"No, I'll go ahead."

Beau was showing off. He had already done this lab and knew what to look for. It should be easy.

"Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" Edward asked as Beau began to remove the slide. Their hands touched briefly and Beau jerked back. The other boy's fingers were ice-cold, like he'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But Beau withdrew for a different reason; when they touched, it was as if an electric current passed between them.

"I'm sorry," Edward muttered, pulling his hand back. However, he continued to reach for the microscope, then quickly identified the next slide. They went back and forth like this for a few minutes before Beau spoke again. He finally recognized what struck him in the cafeteria.

"Did you get contacts?"

Edward seemed puzzled by the question. "No."

He and Beau were finished before everyone else. Mike and his partner sat comparing two slides, looking confused. Another group had their book open under the table. That left Beau with nothing to do but try to not look at his own lab partner . . . unsuccessfully. He glanced up and saw Edward was staring at him with that same inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes.

Those eyes were a flat black color the last time he'd glared at Beau. He remembered because the color was striking against Edward's pale skin and auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone.

Beau didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was truly making crazy. It wasn't far out of the realm of possibility.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Beaufort should get a chance with the microscope?" Mr. Banner asked as he made his rotation toward the pair.

"Beau," Edward corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

That piqued Mr. Banner's interest. "Have you done this lab before?"

"We did it with whitefish blastula back home."

"Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"I was," Beau said, with a touch of pride. He refused to be a rocks-for-jocks type of science student, and studied hard for that placement, working around weekly practices, games, and his household responsibilities.

"I see," Mr. Banner said, appearing to consider something for a moment. "Your academic and athletic reputations precede you. Well done."

Beau stiffened, but the teacher went on, talking almost to himself now.

"I made some calls. Sounds like you have a great arm. Coach Clapp and I run the baseball team; let me know if you'd like to try out."

"Sure," Beau managed to say. He let his gaze drop to the desk as Mr. Banner went hunting for a new victim.

His right hand was twitching. Beau reached for his cap but remembered it was tucked into the sleeve of his jacket across the room.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?"

Beau was startled; he had nearly forgotten Edward was there. It was a perfectly innocent question, but somehow, it felt like the other boy was forcing himself to make small talk.

Paranoia washed over Beau. It was as if Edward heard his conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove them both wrong.

"Not really."

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," Edward mused.

"You have no idea."

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked him that—not straight out like he did. Demanding. It seemed like the first genuine question he'd been asked in Forks.

"It's complicated."

"I think I can keep up." Edward pressed.

Beau paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. The dark gold eyes confused him, and he answered without thinking.

"My mother got remarried." It was the first thing that popped into his head.

"That doesn't sound so complex," Edward disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September."

His voice sounded sad, even to his own ears. But the wedding itself had been a nice day for all three of them. The moment Beau's passport arrived, Phil rented a car, then drove them straight to Tijuana, where they held the ceremony right on the beach. Beau was both Phil's best man and Renée's man of honor. He knew they were desperate for something good to happen, something other than broken bones and sleepless nights.

Beau had slipped away after the ceremony to give them a moment, removed his shoes, then ran straight into the cool, blue water. It was there that he came up with the idea to move to Forks.

"And you don't like him," Edward surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

He couldn't fathom the interest, but Edward continued to stare with penetrating eyes, as if this information was somehow vitally important.

"Phil travels a lot. He plays baseball for a living," Beau explained, his lips quirking at the memory of those so-called games. Even at a high school level, Beau knew he was a better player, but Phil enjoyed his profession nonetheless. "Minor league. He moves around quite a bit."

"So I wouldn't have heard of him."

"Nope," he chuckled, surprised this peculiar boy managed to pry a laugh out of him. "Anyway, she stayed with me while he was gone, but I could tell she missed him. So I thought I could move here instead."

The truth was that these things happened concurrently. While Phil was traveling with his team, Beau's own team turned on him, and things got ugly from there. Despite his misgivings on Phil, the man had flown home immediately to comfort Renée after the incident, earning Beau's sincere respect and appreciation. Everything sort of fell into place after that.

"But now you're unhappy."

"And?"

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

Beau laughed again without humor. Someone who looked like _that_ should have nothing to say about fairness. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," Edward agreed dryly.

"So that's all," Beau insisted, wondering why he was still staring.

Edward appeared to be studying him. "You put on a good show, but I'd be willing to bet that you're angry. That you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

The fear Beau felt on the first day returned with a vengeance. Did Edward know something? Did he suspect the truth, and hoped to tease it out of him? Well, that wasn't going to happen, not if Beau could help it.

"Why does it matter to _you_?"

"That's a very good question," he murmured. However, after a few seconds of silence, it looked like that was the only answer Beau was going to get.

Beau scowled at the blackboard. So much for a worry-free afternoon. Now he had to deal with the fact his cover might be blown.

"Am I annoying you?" Edward asked, amused.

"Kind of," Beau snapped back. But seconds later he was backpedaling, suddenly ashamed of his rudeness. "I'm sorry, it's just . . . did I do something to you the other day? You seemed really upset when I came to class. I want . . . I want to clear the air between us."

"You didn't do anything," Edward said quietly. "I'm very sorry if I gave you that impression."

Mr. Banner called the class to order then, and Beau faced the board to listen. He was in disbelief that he'd just explained his dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise him. He'd seemed engrossed in the conversation, but now Edward was leaning away again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension. What was that about?

Beau tried to pay attention as Mr. Banner illustrated the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector. But his thoughts were unmanageable. When the bell finally rang, Edward rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, Beau could only stare after him in amazement.

"Man, that was awful," Mike groaned. "Banner likes to torment us—didn't all the slides look the same? You're so lucky you had Cullen for a partner."

Beau shrugged. "I didn't have a problem with it."

"Cullen seemed friendlier today."

"I wonder what was with him last Monday," he said, as the Mariners cap twisted in his hands.

Mike, true to form, didn't notice his discontent, and launched into his predictions for the upcoming Super Bowl. A few of the guys were organizing a betting pool, so Beau threw his name on the list, determined to keep mind off Edward Cullen.

But this effort didn't last. Usually Beau enjoyed gym, but today, his mind drifted elsewhere. Last week, the guy went total Mr. Hyde. Today he was Dr. Jekyll. If it wasn't an anti-gay thing, if it wasn't a Beau-specific thing, then had what angered Edward so much?

The rain was just a mist as he walked to the parking lot, but Beau was happier once inside the dry cab. He got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.

He looked around to make sure it was clear. That's when he noticed the still, white figure. Edward Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down, and staring intently at Big Red.

Beau swiftly looked away, threw the truck into reverse, and almost hit a rusty Toyota Corolla in his haste to escape. Lucky for the Toyota, Beau stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that the truck would make scrap metal of.

He took a deep breath, still looking out to the other side of the car, and cautiously pulled out again, this time with greater success. He stared straight ahead when passing the Volvo, but from a peripheral glance, he swore Edward was laughing.

* * *

**A/N**: Anyone have a picture of Beau in their head? Mine's Noah Centineo :) Thanks for reading!


	4. Extraordinary

When Beau opened his eyes in the morning, he knew there was something different about the light. The sky was muted and cloudy as always, but today, there was no fog lining the window.

He jumped up to look outside and groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow had coated the world overnight. Beau pressed his nose to the glass and studied a Forks he had never known. In all his trips as a child to Washington, he never visited during the winter. It almost looked like a Christmas card.

Beau _might_ have been able to enjoy the snow if he could observe it from the couch with a good book. But today he had to drive in it. From this height, Big Red sat stoically below the window, partially concealed under powdery white dust. Meanwhile, all the rain from yesterday had frozen solid, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick.

By the time he went downstairs, Charlie had already left for work. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having his own house, and Beau found himself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely. While a small town like Forks might have seemed boring at first, he was learning to appreciate the isolation and peace it offered.

Beau munched on a quick bowl of cereal. He felt excited to go to school today, and that scared him. He knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment or seeing his new friends. Beau knew he was eager to get to school because it meant seeing Edward Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.

He should avoid Edward entirely after their conversation fiasco yesterday. The guy had been nice to him one time, and that didn't mean anything. And Beau was suspicious of him; why would Edward lie about his eyes?

Beau was still frightened of the previous hostility, and, worse, rendered speechless whenever he pictured that perfect face. He never should have invested so much time thinking about Edward Cullen in the first place. For all Beau knew, he was straight, making him _especially_ uninterested in the police chief's gay son. All this anxiety was, therefore, completely unnecessary.

To his surprise, Big Red had no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. After climbing out of the truck at school, Beau saw why the tires had so little trouble; each one had thin chains crisscrossed around them in diamond shapes. There was only one person who had the means—and the mind—to do something like that for him.

Charlie had gotten up early to put snow chains on the truck.

Beau felt his throat grow tight. Charlie's unspoken concern took him off guard. He was unused to this level of parental attention; it was the kind of forethought that he found himself performing for Renée.

A sudden picture of Charlie in uniform, breath visible as he worked on the tires well before the sun rose behind the clouds, sharpened in his mind. Their relationship, though still tentative, was blossoming into something Beau had not expected.

Beau was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when he heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched, loud screeching noise. He looked up, startled. The adrenaline rush allowed him to understand several things happening simultaneously.

Edward Cullen was standing four cars away and staring at him in horror. His pale face stood out from a sea of them, all frozen in the same mask of shock. But of more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. The van was going to hit the back corner of Big Red, and Beau was standing between them.

Even on a summer day, there would be no time to escape. Beau was numb; he didn't even have time to close his eyes. He supposed, having faced mortal peril in the past, that logic would prevail over fear at any second. Death would be instant; no pain at all. He took one breath—his last—to prepare for the end.

But just before he heard the impact, something hit him, hard, and not from the direction he expected. His head cracked against the asphalt, and he found himself pinned to the ground by something solid and cold.

Beau lay there on the pavement, stunned, watching the van spin back to him again.

A low oath made him aware he wasn't alone. This voice was impossible not to recognize. Two large white hands shot out and forced the van to shudder to a stop a foot away. Those hands fit perfectly into a new deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then Beau felt himself dragged away from the sound of groaning metal. The van settled, but the window above the dent had developed lattice-like cracks, and its glass fell in a jagged pile where his legs had been only a heartbeat before.

The parking lot was silent for only a moment before the screaming began. In the bedlam, Beau could hear more than one person shouting his name. But something cut through all the noise—Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice in his ear.

"Beau? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." His voice sounded strange, like he was underwater. Beau tried to sit up and realized the other boy was holding his shoulder in a cold iron grasp.

"Be careful, I think you hit your head pretty hard."

"Ow," he said, surprised at the throbbing ache above his left ear. He touched the skin, probing for blood, but his hand came back clean.

"That's what I thought." Edward's voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter. The strange boy was holding him close to his own body, and Beau felt the chuckle vibrate through as if it was his own.

Beau stared up at the white face above him, completely dumbstruck. His brain was still trying to process what had just happened.

"How in the . . . how did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Beau."

Beau turned to sit up, and this time Edward let him, releasing his hold and sliding as far away as he could in the limited space, which, for two boys north of six feet, was a hard thing to do. The crowd had reached them by now, surging around the two cars, chattering at full volume.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" someone else shouted.

Beau tried to stand, but Edward's firm hand pushed his shoulder back down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," Beau complained. He was surprised to hear the other boy laugh again. There was an edge to the sound, and it strengthened his focus.

"You were over there," he continued, and the laugh stopped short. "You were by your car."

"No, I wasn't."

"I saw you."

The parking lot around them had succumbed to chaos. Gruffer voices of teachers had joined the fray. But Beau obstinately held onto the argument; he was right, and Edward was going to admit it.

"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." Edward was gazing at him without blinking, and for a brief moment, Beau faltered. But then his eyes flickered to the dent, the spot where Edward's hands had pressed into the body of the van, its door crunching under the pressure. A new image burst sharply into his thoughts—Edward, four cars away, staring in horror as the van lost control over the ice. He was nowhere near Beau.

It was a lie—and a bad one at that.

"No." Beau set his jaw.

The gold eyes blazed. "Please, Beau."

"_Why_?"

"Trust me," Edward pleaded. His soft voice was overwhelming. Beau felt his stubbornness lessen enough to consider a negotiation.

"Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine_._"

"_Fine_," Beau repeated angrily. It seemed like the good doctor was out today. This morning, Edward decided to be Mr. Hyde.

The rescue effort took six EMTs and two teachers—Mr. Banner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away to bring in the stretchers. Edward vehemently refused his, and when Beau tried to do the same, the traitor told them the latter hit his head, and probably had a concussion.

It looked like the entire school was there watching. Beau surrendered to the humiliation of a neck brace and was silent as they loaded him in the back of the ambulance. They allowed Edward to ride in the front with the driver; it was obvious they were familiar with the doctor's son. The privilege only made Beau angrier.

To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get safely away.

"Beau!" he yelled when he saw the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad. There's nothing wrong with me."

He turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. Frustrated, Beau tuned them both out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images in his head. When they lifted him away from the car, he once again saw the deep dent—a very distinct dent that bore the shape of Edward's hands. He had braced them against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame.

And then there was his family looking on from a distance. Every one of them wore expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury and held no hint of concern for their brother's safety. Why was that?

Everyone talked about those miraculous feats of strength, like the women who lifted cars off their children after a collision. But he had not heard a story of someone stopping a van going sixty miles an hour with their bare hands. Beau tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what he saw—a solution that excluded the assumption that he was insane. Nothing added up.

The ambulance naturally got a police escort to Forks Community Hospital. Beau, motionless in the stretcher, remembered the last time he rode in an ambulance. He ground his teeth together at the thought.

The EMTs put him in an emergency room bed behind a pastel-patterned curtain. After his vitals were taken, he stared at the ceiling, too exhausted by the morning's events to remove the brace.

The memory of Renée sobbing at his bedside flashed through his mind. His stomach churned with nausea, and suddenly, the concussion diagnosis didn't seem too out there.

There was a flurry of hospital personnel as another stretcher was wheeled in. When the curtain between them drew back, he recognized Tyler Crowley from his Government class. Despite the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head, he was staring at Beau anxiously.

"Beau, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Tyler—you look awful, are you all right?"

"I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong . . . "

"Don't worry about it," Beau at once. He watched a nurse start removing the bloody bandages and tried to be present in their conversation. "You missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone . . . "

"Um . . . " He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "Edward pulled me out of the way."

Tyler looked confused. "Who?"

"Edward Cullen—he was standing next to me."

"Cullen? I didn't see him . . . wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?"

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher." His voice grew bitter at the end.

There—proof. His account had some traction now. Beau knew he wasn't crazy. What really happened in that parking lot? There was no way to explain what he'd seen.

The nurses wheeled him away to radiology, but there was no evidence of a concussion. Beau asked to leave, annoyed when they told him he had to be seen by a doctor first. He soon found himself trapped in the ER with a guilty Tyler. The stream of apologies was constant until Beau closed his eyes and ignored him.

"Is he sleeping?"

Edward stood at the foot of the bed, smirking. Beau glared at him. It was hard to do; even now, his first instinct was to ogle.

"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry—" Tyler began, but Edward held up a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul. So, Beau, what's the verdict?"

"No concussion, but they won't let me go. How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know, but don't worry. I came to spring you."

Then a doctor walked around the corner, and Beau felt his mouth fall open. This had to be the famous Dr. Cullen. He was young, blond, and unreasonably handsome. His skin was pale like his son's, and they shared the same dark circles under their eyes, though Beau remembered belatedly that the two weren't blood related.

Beau was beginning to understand the dilemma of the nursing staff Charlie had mentioned over dinner. He quickly tried to school his expression before it gave him away.

"So, Mr. Swan, how are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Your scans look good. Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard."

_Hard because your son pushed me_, he wanted to retort_, _but bit his tongue. Beau sat up and pulled the neck brace off, trying to prove he was okay. "It's fine."

Dr. Cullen felt his head for bumps but appeared not to find anything unusual. Beau worked hard to suppress a shiver; the doctor's hands were as cold as Edward's. Dr. Cullen told Beau that he was free to go, but to return if he noticed any other symptoms.

"Shouldn't I go back to school?"

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

"Does _he_ get to go back to school?" Beau asked.

Edward looked smug. "Someone has to spread the good news that we survived."

"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected him, "most of the school appears to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," Beau groaned, covering his face with his hands. He felt the top of his bare head and jerked up in shock. His Mariners cap was gone. It had to have fallen off in the accident.

"Do you want to stay?" The two Cullens noticed his mounting panic.

It was just a hat, but it was Charlie's hat. _His_ hat. His shield, his suit of armor. And now he lost it.

"No, no!" he insisted. He wanted to get out of there and look for his stupid hat. "I'm fine."

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," Dr. Cullen suggested. "It sounds like you were extremely lucky."

"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," Beau said. He watched the doctor absorb these words, then subtly shift his attention to Tyler.

Beau's eyes narrowed. In baseball, they called this a shutout. The solution hit him like a ton of bricks: the doctor was in on it, of course_. _

He knew it wasn't just lucky that he survived—it was extraordinary.

Beau felt the weight of Edward's eyes on his face and returned the stare, daring him to contradict stone cold fact. Edward stared back insolently. This wasn't going to be an easy fight.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Edward took a step away from him. "Your father is waiting for you."

"I need to speak with you alone," Beau pressed.

The other boy stalked off to a distant corner of the ER. When Edward spun around to face him, Beau was struck at the realization that this was the first time they stood face-to-face.

"What do you want?"

Beau had two inches of height on him; somehow, this made him feel a little braver. "You owe me an explanation."

"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."

"You promised."

"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about."

His temper flared. "So you keep saying. But isn't it convenient that your dad works at the hospital? You knew exactly what to say to the EMTs."

Beau watched Edward consider his words. His account would be discredited, head injury or not, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. Beau didn't want to pull the police chief card, but he could, if it came to that.

"What do you want from me?" Edward folded his arms, which allowed Beau to scrutinize them more closely. There were no cuts on his sleeves or his skin. No shards of glass, no paint from the van's exterior . . . no evidence of how he avoided catastrophic injuries at all.

"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you _think_ happened?"

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me—Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both, but it didn't, because your hands left a dent in the side of it. You're not hurt at all. That van should have killed us, and yet, here we are."

"You think _I_ stopped the van?" Edward's incredulous tone only made Beau more suspicious. It was a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor. "Nobody will believe that."

"I wasn't going to tell anybody." Beau was good at keeping secrets; he had plenty of practice lately.

Surprise flitted across the other boy's face. "Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me," Beau insisted. He had enough lying for one lifetime. Why did Edward expect Beau to give up so easily, when he saw everything?

"Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"Thank you," he said, fuming and expectant, but the promised explanation did not come. Edward raised his eyebrows as the tense silence wore on.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"In that case . . . I hope you enjoy disappointment."

Beau scowled. "Then why did you even bother?"

"I don't know," Edward whispered. For a brief moment, his face was open and vulnerable. He lifted a hand as if to clasp Beau's shoulder like he did in the parking lot, but dropped it, turned, and walked away. Beau lifted his own hand in response, too slow to keep him there.

Beau found Charlie in the waiting room. He assured his father that Dr. Cullen had given him the all-clear and he was free to go. He would have told Charlie anything to get away from the persistent staring of his classmates. The Swans walked to the cruiser, not talking, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Beau took Edward's defensiveness as a confirmation he had something to hide. He used his position as the doctor's son to tell a story and Beau played along, not realizing he was being played as well. What else had those two covered up?

"Beau," Charlie kept his eyes on the road. "Are you okay? Really?"

"Of course, Dad," Beau told him. "Everything's fine."

"No, I know the scans were clear, but, um . . . emotionally? I'm sure a car accident brings up a lot of bad memories for you."

It took a second for Beau to remember that this was the lie he and his mother fed Charlie last summer. A hit and run, Renée had told her ex-husband, ending Beau's baseball season for the year. Beau, immobilized in casts and pain medication in the bed below, could only listen as Charlie's voice grew louder and louder over the line. His mother spent a few agonizing minutes convincing Charlie she had everything under control. As soon as she hung up, Renée burst into tears.

"I'm fine, Dad," Beau murmured as he summoned yet another lie for the day. "I would tell you if I wasn't."

Charlie fell silent until the cruiser turned into the driveway. "Um . . . you'll need to call Renée."

"You told Mom?"

"Sorry."

Beau hurried to the phone, eager to perform damage control, but it was too late. His mother was in hysterics when she answered, and it took nearly an hour to calm her down. Beau braced one hand against the wall, receiver cradled between his ear and shoulder, struggling to avoid tears himself. He always hated it when she cried.

"Mom," he whispered, when her sobs had subsided. "I'm fine. It was an accident. _Please_. Everything is okay. No concussion. No broken bones."

"Beau, if you end up in the hospital again, I swear, I will move you back to Phoenix myself."

"Phoenix was the start of it, Mom," he said tiredly. "I'm not going back there. Listen, I'm exhausted. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I love you."

He replaced the phone in the cradle, pressed his forehead against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Charlie could wield more influence than Dr. Cullen, here, in his hometown. There had to be something left behind on the van that could be tested—a fingerprint? Radioactive matter? The chief had the power to get the van towed and have it analyzed. He _could_ call Edward into the station for an interview. But one question remained—would he do all of those things?

No, Beau decided. He wouldn't do any of it. Charlie had gone on and on about giving the Cullens a fair shot in Forks; he'd never agree to investigate an accident that seemed inevitable on an icy winter day without a very good reason. And Beau had told Edward he wasn't going to say anything. He intended to keep that promise, even if it wasn't reciprocated. Involving the police now would complicate things.

The mystery Edward presented was too consuming to resist; Beau was obsessed with it. Obsessed with _him_. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was the first night he dreamed of Edward Cullen.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks for your readership these past few chapters! I love developing Beau as a different character than Bella, while maintaining their essential attributes. Definitely a slow burn, but more diversions in the future.

If you're on Tumblr, I'm over there twistedkey (one y!) and I tried my hand at a photoset for this fic. Jury is still out on the quality, but I had fun :)

See you next Sunday!


	5. Invitations

In his dream, it was very dark.

Slowly, in the hazy way of dreaming, his eyes adjusted. He recognized this room. Beau had been here before.

He was in the locker room in Phoenix after hours.

Beau was lying flat on his back, covered in blood, unable to move his arms or legs. Everything hurt. He thought his ribs might be fractured; his nose was definitely broken. Dazed, Beau tilted his head, the only part of him that would cooperate with his commands.

A dim light appeared beside the row of lockers. A boy stood over him, silent, watching his fruitless struggling. This was a new development—normally his nightmares were his alone.

The light Beau saw seemed to be radiating from the surface of his skin.

Beau recognized the boy at once. Those eyes glowed gold in the darkness, casting his face in shadow, but still, Beau knew him.

"Edward," he whispered. "Please help me."

Edward turned away, wordless, leaving him alone in the darkness.

It was the same dream every time. No matter what he said, Edward never turned back. Beau woke up troubled, night after night, and couldn't go back to sleep. Hours would pass until his eyes closed again, and before long, it was time to get up for school. Dark circles appeared under his eyes; if they weren't pretending he didn't exist, Beau thought he would fit in at the Cullen table.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and at first, embarrassing.

To his dismay, Beau was the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley became his shadow, following him around, determined to make amends. Beau tried to convince him to forget all about it, seeing as he was just fine, but Tyler remained insistent. He joined their now-crowded lunch table, drawing the ire of Mike and Eric, who thought they were being pushed out of the friend-of-Beau-Swan spotlight.

Edward was never surrounded by crowds eager to hear his firsthand account. People saved their curiosity for Beau and avoided the Cullens as usual. The strange family sat at their table as always, not eating, talking only amongst themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced his way anymore.

Beau wondered why no one else noticed Edward standing so far away before he was suddenly, impossibly, saving his life. Then he realized—no one else was as aware of Edward as he was. No one else watched him the way Beau did. How pitiful.

When they sat together in class, Edward would sit as far away as the table allowed, and seemed totally unaware of the other boy's presence. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched white over the bones—did Beau wonder if he wasn't as oblivious as he appeared.

He wished he hadn't pulled Beau from the path of the van. Beau could reach no other conclusion.

Beau desperately wanted to talk to Edward, to at the very least thank him sincerely. He did try on the day after the accident. The last time they saw each other was outside of the ER, where they had exchanged angry words. Beau was furious Edward wouldn't trust him with the truth, even though he saw everything. Even when he was keeping his mouth shut. But, Edward had saved his life, and overnight, the resentment Beau felt faded into awed gratitude. Charlie might have been picking out a coffin by now if Edward hadn't acted so quickly. Whatever his secret was, Beau was happy to keep it, thankful for his heroism.

The next day Edward beat him to Biology. Beau sat down, expecting him to turn, but he didn't.

Something else was waiting for him at their table. It was the Mariners baseball cap, the same cap Beau thought he lost in the accident. He pressed his hand flat to the crown of it, delighted, heart thudding loud in his ears.

"Hello, Edward."

Edward turned his head a fraction, nodded once, and looked away.

That was the last contact they had, though he was there, a foot away, every day. They worked on their lab reports independently and didn't speak, even during partnered projects. His golden eyes grew perceptibly darker by the day.

Beau watched him sometimes, unable to stop himself, but always from a distance, like in the cafeteria or parking lot. In class, they ignored each other.

Beau was miserable. And the dreams continued.

A week after the accident, Beau asked around for a good mechanic. He told people the truck sustained some minor damage, but he had ulterior motives. He really wanted to take a better look at the van, unable to sate his curiosity about Edward. As long as he kept his investigation private, Beau reasoned, there was no harm in examining the dent.

But, by the time he made it to Dowling's garage after school, the dent had been repaired. Nothing remained of the accident—nothing he could prove.

These events had another unusual effect. In the days following the accident, people—girls, specifically—started dropping by the house with casseroles and other premade dinners. It was as if narrowly avoiding death had rendered him incapable of feeding himself. Sometimes their mothers joined them, giddily passing along the reheating instructions, and flirting with Charlie if he was home. The chief appeared to appreciate the attention.

These visits happened so often that Beau suspected Charlie thought he was some sort of high school Casanova. Beau didn't have the energy to correct him, much less have the big Coming Out Talk, so he let his father think what he wanted, because it seemed to make him happy. Beau was the only one not enjoying his continuing popularity.

He played his part, though. He went to the Newton Super Bowl watch party with the lunchtime gang, even though football bored him to tears, chuckling when Mike cursed the Patriots in a fit of rage.

His mother read between the lines of his e-mails and called a few times. Beau tried to convince her it was just the weather that had him down; seasonal effective disorder or something to that effect. Renée was happier now that she and Phil were in Florida, and Beau wanted to keep it that way.

The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight, but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible.

The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed. Beau went to the school on some weekends, used the weight room, and grew stronger both mentally and physically. He slowly became more comfortable being in a locker room again. These efforts worked better than expected; no one noticed his disquiet about Edward Cullen.

Then Jessica, a three-time casserole visitor, made him aware of another event looming on the horizon. She pulled him aside one day after Trig to talk about the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks. Beau thought she was looking for advice on how to ask Mike at first, but soon, he realized she had other plans entirely.

"So, I was thinking you should take me to the spring dance."

Beau put a hand on the back of his neck, which was growing hotter by the minute. He decided the best course of action was to play dumb. "There's a spring dance?"

"Yes," Jessica said excitedly. "It's so much fun, and spring break starts right after it, so everyone always has a great time. Anyway, we've been friends for a while now and I think it's time we took the next step in our relationship."

"You want to go with me? I heard . . . well, I heard Mike was hoping you'd ask him."

Her smile faltered; she hadn't considered this wrinkle in the planning process. "Mike?"

"Oh, yeah," Beau was excited by this potential loophole. "He talked about you _all_ week in Biology."

"Really?"

Beau nodded. "He's really into you. I say go for it."

"Okay . . . " Jessica said slowly, the gears no doubt turning in her mind, recalculating every interaction the two shared in the past week. "All right, I'll ask Mike. Are you sure, though? Did someone already ask you?"

"No," Beau assured her. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

This shocked Jessica. "Why not?"

Dancing was glaringly outside his range of abilities. A bunt in front of home plate? No problem. But dancing in public? Safety hazard. He was built like Charlie; tall, lanky, and pitifully uncoordinated during social occasions. It was in the interest of public safety that he did not attend the dance.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," Beau explained. He was itching to get out of town and away from all the attention, and suddenly, he had the perfect excuse.

"Can you go some other weekend?"

"Sorry, no. But I think you and Mike would have a lot of fun."

Jessica was less chatty than usual in Spanish. Beau didn't stop talking, even when admonished by Señora Goff, trying to soften the blow of his rejection. Like Mike, Jessica seemed to have certain expectations for their friendship, but as Beau also harbored unrequited feelings for someone uninterested, he didn't want to upset her. By lunchtime, it seemed his efforts with Jessica had paid off, because she quickly took the open seat next to Mike.

Beau went up for a soda and tried not to glance in the direction of the Cullens. Angela joined him in line and they discussed the latest Biology homework. After a moment of watching her dig through her purse, Beau put a dollar in the Mariners cap, then had her pick it out at the cashier. They laughed together.

"I heard Jessica asked you to the dance."

Beau winced. "You heard about that, huh?"

"Well, she called me last night to talk her through it," she smiled. "But it looks like Mike said yes."

She was right; the two were sitting closer than before and smiling. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who are you asking?"

Angela glanced at him shyly. "Actually, I thought about asking you to go with me, you know, as friends."

It was a sweet offer; if he wasn't so adverse to dancing in public, Beau would have accepted it in a heartbeat. But there was another thing impeding this offer—something critical.

"Me? Not Ben Cheney?"

Angela blushed at his words. He'd noticed her watching the other boy across the cafeteria for over two weeks. Sometimes, Ben would watch her, too.

"He doesn't know I exist."

"Ang," Beau grinned, throwing a playful arm around her shoulders as they returned to the table. She was nearly as tall as he was, so she didn't stumble. "Sure he does. Ask him! I dare you."

"I can't."

"Of course you can. You asked me, didn't you?"

Angela nodded, still blushing. They spent the walk to Biology devising the perfect way for her to ask Ben out after church on Sunday. Beau was relieved she took it well. Angela was fast becoming a good friend to him in Forks.

Mike always hung out at his desk before class, but today, Lauren Mallory was waiting for him. Edward was avoiding his gaze as usual. Beau forced a polite smile.

"Hey, Lauren."

"Beau," she chirped as he slid into the chair. "You're looking good. I'm so glad Tyler didn't flatten you with his van."

"So am I," he said nervously. Lauren was another three-time casserole visitor; a bad sign. "Black is so not my color, you know?"

Lauren laughed even though it wasn't that funny. Beau had a strong hunch about she was after but he was too chicken to cut her off at the pass. So he plastered a smile on his face and listened, nodding along to her dress shopping saga, the hair extension misfires she made a year ago, and waited for the proverbial other shoe to drop.

"Anyway," she continued, steering the conversation back into dangerous waters. "You and I should go to the spring dance together."

"Oh," he murmured, shifting uncomfortably as she leaned closer. There was nowhere to look other than at the neckline of her ugly tracksuit. "That's really nice of you to ask, but I'm not going to be in town."

Lauren kept coming. Her zipper was suddenly a few inches lower than before. He had nearly a full view of her chest, which, if he was straight, would seal the deal.

But he wasn't, and it didn't.

"Yeah, Jessica said that."

"Then why—"

Lauren shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy. Jess can be overbearing sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Beau said, though he was not all that sorry. "I really am going out of town."

"That's cool. We still have prom."

Beau exhaled loudly as she flounced away. He really should just tell people. This was starting to get out of hand.

He wasn't obtuse—Beau knew girls thought he was attractive. He was tall, fit from exercise, and above all, nonthreatening; he'd never made unwelcome advances toward Jessica, Angela, or Lauren because he wasn't interested. To them, it made Beau a desired candidate; to Beau, it was tantamount to cowardice. He was lying—lying by omission. The girls at least had the courage to be forthright with their intentions.

A snort of derision cut into his self-loathing. Beau turned unwillingly to find Edward's eyes on him. He waited, but the other boy didn't say anything.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?"

"No, not really."

"Then what do you want?" Beau snapped.

"I'm sorry." He almost sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's better if we're not friends," Edward explained. "Trust me."

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," Beau muttered. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret? Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."

Edward was astonished. "You think I regret saving your life?"

"I _know_ you do."

"You don't know anything. Except maybe that 'black is _soooo _not your color.'"

Beau stared, taken aback by the outrageous impression of his own voice. Edward Cullen, a comedian? It was on the same level of lunacy as the idea of Renée becoming an accountant. Inconceivable. And kind of . . . bitchy.

Before he could think of a suitable retort, Mr. Banner's voice called across the room, seeking an answer to a question Beau hadn't heard being asked.

"Mr. Cullen?"

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward replied, almost like he didn't have to think about it. Beau scowled, disappointed.

He then spent the next hour picturing Big Red running over the shiny Volvo. Beau was sure the student body would hoist them on their shoulders for that act.

Later, Beau decided to make enchiladas for dinner. It required some prep work and took his mind off school for the moment. But he soon had to slow down when he realized he was dicing the chicken too forcefully. There, while his mind was unoccupied for a second, the intrusive thoughts made themselves known.

What did Edward mean, it was better if they weren't friends?

Maybe he caught on that Beau was interested in him. He paused, the knife in midair, considering the facts.

That had to be it.

Edward must have realized Beau had a crush and was trying not to lead him on. It was better if they weren't friends because he wanted to let him down easy.

Well, that was fine. Beau could leave him alone. He _would_ leave him alone. He had to get through this year, and the next, then continue with the Florida plan. _Eighteen months, eighteen months . . . _

Baseball tryouts were coming up. Beau doubted scouts would bother driving to this rainy little hell, but if he was pitching, he might turn the shitty school record around. He focused on sunny beaches and palm trees as he finished preparing the ingredients.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. Beau couldn't blame him; the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, even if just a small-town cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. Beau enjoyed earning his father's trust in the kitchen.

"Dad?"

"Yep?"

"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday . . . if that's okay?"

His mother was liberal with curfew, but he hesitated to bring this precedent up with his father, knowing it would set the two against each other unnecessarily. He would have to tread carefully; it was all about the approach.

"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.

"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited. Maybe pick up some warmer clothes . . . grab a new glove while I'm at it."

"Big Red probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," Charlie said. Beau smiled at the use of his truck's nickname.

"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—Tacoma if I have to."

"Oh, okay. Sure. Will you be back in time for the dance?"

"It's not my scene, Dad."

"Oh, right."

The next morning, when he pulled into the parking lot, Beau deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. He didn't want to bring his destruction daydreams to fruition; Big Red was a ready and willing accomplice. As he got out of the cab, his keys fell into a puddle just underneath the door.

_Ugh_, he thought. _One of those mornings._

As he bent down, a white hand flashed out and beat him to it. Beau jerked upright. Edward Cullen leaning casually against the truck, twirling the keys around one finger.

"How do you _do_ that?"

"Do what?"

"Appear out of thin air."

"Not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant."

Beau scowled and pocketed the keys. He couldn't help but notice Edward's eyes were light again today. They were a deep golden color, almost like honey, and nearly impossible to look away from.

"So what's this about? I thought you were pretending I don't exist."

"You're being absurd. I'm not pretending you don't exist. Besides, if I was, that means I would miss out on the Forks-Most-Eligible-Bachelor Show."

Beau turned and sloshed through the rain in the opposite direction. In no time at all Edward had caught up with him. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm not saying it isn't _true_ but it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone? What kind of game are you playing?"

"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."

"Do you have multiple personality disorder? Like today for example, when you woke up and decided to be Mr. Hyde?"

Edward was smiling. "You're doing it again."

"Fine," Beau growled. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"

"Are you trying to be _funny_?"

He was rendered truly weak in the knees by Edward's answering wicked smile. "Will you please allow me to finish? Word is you're going to Seattle that day and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

"Why?" Beau asked warily.

"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

"Big Red works just fine, thank you for your concern." He set off toward homeroom, but to his surprise, Edward continued to follow.

Was Mercury in retrograde or something? Beau made a mental note to ask Jessica about it later. Jessica, a firm believer in astrology, had almost finished a Virgo star chart for him that was suspiciously compatible with her own sign, Scorpio.

"Big Red?"

"My truck. And you still haven't explained why its mileage is any of your business."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Honestly, Edward," Beau said, slowing to a stop, and hating the thrill of saying his name. "I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Because that makes sense," Beau replied, irritated again. He stared down at the strange boy, who, annoyingly, didn't seem the least bit intimidated by their albeit small height difference.

"It would be more . . . _prudent_ for you not to be my friend. But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."

His tawny eyes smoldered and betrayed absolutely nothing. Beau shifted his feet, searching for an appropriate answer to that, but rational thought had deserted him. Edward's words held possibilities he never dared to imagine. Beau couldn't even string a sentence together.

Edward stepped in to fill the silence. "Will you go with me to Seattle?"

Beau still didn't know what to say, so he just nodded.

"You really _should_ stay away from me. I'll see you in class."

Then Edward turned and walked back the way they came.

* * *

**A/N**: My previous fic, _Number Our Days_, has again been nominated for the TwiFic Fandom Awards. I'm up for Favorite All-Time Fic and Favorite Out of this World Fic. Thank you for these nominations! I am forever grateful for the support.


	6. Superman

Beau made his way to English in a daze. His mind was reeling so fast that he didn't realize class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan."

Beau flushed and hurried to his seat.

His classes passed by in a blur. It was difficult to believe he hadn't imagined what Edward said earlier, and the way his eyes looked. Truthfully, the mood swings were giving Beau whiplash. Hot one day, cold the next. He hoped to get a better explanation in Biology.

Beau felt out of sorts as he followed Jessica into the cafeteria. He wanted to see Edward and determine if he had returned to the haughty, indifferent person he'd been the last several weeks. Or, if by some miracle, his ears hadn't deceived him this morning. He had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that Edward, seemingly out of the blue, decided friendship was now on the table.

Jessica was talking about the dance—by the sounds of it, Angela had jumped the gun on her Sunday deadline and asked Ben before homeroom, while Lauren had made a move on Tyler—and completely unaware of his inattention. Disappointment flooded through him as he counted four Cullens at their usual table. No Edward.

So much for that explanation. Beau followed the still-chatting Jessica through the line, crushed. He bought a lemonade and sat down to sulk.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you again. I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

His head snapped up. Beau followed her gaze and found Edward smiling crookedly from an empty table. When their eyes met, Edward motioned for Beau to come over.

"Does he mean you?"

Beau hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders. "Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework. Um, I better go see what he wants."

When Beau reached the table, he stood behind an empty chair, uncomprehending this strange turn of events.

"Is this the VIP table?"

Edward chuckled. "Only the best for Forks-Most-Eligible-Bachelor. Why don't you sit with me today?"

"I'm pretty sure that's you, but all right. Thanks."

Beau sat down and stowed his backpack under the table. Edward was still smiling.

It was hard to believe someone so beautiful could be real. Beau was afraid he might disappear in a puff of smoke. Poof. Just a dream.

He cleared his throat. "So . . . this is different."

"Well . . . " Edward paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

The evasiveness would have annoyed Beau if he wasn't so excited by this development. "You know I don't have any idea what you mean. And wasn't it just yesterday you said it's better that we aren't friends?"

"Yes, I know." Edward smiled again before changing the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

"They'll survive," Beau said, removing his cap, then smoothing the hair underneath. He could feel their stares boring into his back.

"I may not give you back, though."

Beau gulped at the wicked glint in his eyes.

"You look worried."

"No," Beau said at once, blushing, when his voice broke in the middle. "I'm surprised. Seriously, what brought this on?"

"I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."

"Giving up," Beau repeated. This was all so confusing.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." Edward's smile faded as he spoke, and a hard edge crept into his voice.

"You lost me again."

Edward smiled in that breathtaking, crooked way. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry," Beau promised. "I don't understand any of it."

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends . . . " Edward mused, dubious. Beau could understand him, however briefly. They had clearly entered a gray area. But, at least, they were together. The back of his neck warmed at the thought.

"Or not."

"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.

"You keep saying that," Beau said, ignoring the sudden trembling in his stomach.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear," Beau said, his eyes narrowing. Edward only smiled apologetically in response.

"So, as long as I'm being . . . not smart, we'll try to be friends?"

"That sounds about right."

Beau looked down at the lemonade bottle. He wasn't sure what to say or what to do next. This was highly unusual.

"What are you thinking?"

Beau looked up into those deep gold eyes and blurted out the truth.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

"Are you having any luck with that?" Edward asked, after a moment of tense silence.

"Not too much."

"What are your theories?"

Beau blushed again. He had been mentally comparing Edward Cullen to Clark Kent all month. The guy certainly had the small town, kid-with-hidden-powers-in-high-school thing down. But there was no way he was going to own up to that; that meant admitting he watched anything on the WB. Phil always complained when he and Renée made him sit through _Smallville_.

"Won't you tell me?"

"It's too embarrassing. Let's talk about something else."

"That's _really_ frustrating, you know," Edward complained.

"No, I can't imagine why that'd be frustrating for you. People are entitled to privacy, you know. And other people, the ones who demand to know what you're thinking, while at the same time making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean . . . now, why would that be frustrating?"

Edward grimaced.

"Or better," Beau continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "Say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things—from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be _very_ non-frustrating."

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"

"I don't like double standards."

They stared at each other, unsmiling. Edward glanced across the cafeteria, then, unexpectedly, he snickered.

"What?"

"Your girlfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—she's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." Edward snickered again.

"I don't know who you're talking about, I don't have a girlfriend," Beau snapped. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. Most people are easy to read."

"Except me, apparently, because you keep asking questions without answering _any_ of mine."

"Yes. Except for you." His expression became brooding. "I wonder why that is."

Beau had to look away from the intensity of his stare. He concentrated on unscrewing the lid of his lemonade. He took a swig and stared at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry? You typically eat quite a lot."

"No, I'm not hungry." His stomach was already full—of butterflies. "What about you?"

"No, I had a big breakfast." He looked amused, as if enjoying a private joke.

"Edward, can we make a deal?"

At once Edward was wary. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," Beau assured him. "But I was hoping you could warn me before deciding to ignore me again. Just so I'm prepared."

This seemed to amuse him. "That sounds fair."

"Let's shake on it, then."

Edward raised his eyebrows, but did not object as they shook hands over the table. That odd, electric current that Beau felt in Biology returned, but both boys let go almost immediately.

"Thanks," Beau replied, smiling despite himself.

"But I'll need something in return—this is a negotiation, after all."

"Okay," Beau said warily. When it came to Edward, he would do almost anything, and that bugged him.

"Tell me _one_ theory."

Beau groaned. "Come on."

"You didn't qualify," Edward pointed out. "You just promised me one answer."

"You've broken promises yourself."

"Just one—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will."

Edward looked down, then glanced up at him through his long black lashes, his ocher eyes scorching.

"Please?" he breathed, leaning across the table.

Beau blinked. It was like magic; his mind had gone completely blank. "Er, what?"

"Please tell me just one little theory." Those eyes were melting all of his willpower.

"You're Superman?" Beau blurted out.

"That's not very creative," Edward scoffed.

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got."

"You're not even close."

Beau frowned. "Bitten by a radioactive spider?"

"Nope."

"Forget about figuring out _what_ you are," Beau muttered. "Just trying to understand _who_ you are seems like the bigger hurdle."

Edward grew serious again. "I wish you wouldn't try."

"Why?"

"What if I'm not a superhero, Beau? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but there was a heaviness to his eyes, as if he dreaded the answer.

"Oh," Beau said, as several things that Edward had hinted at fell suddenly into place. "I see."

"Do you?"

"You're dangerous?" Beau guessed, his pulse quickening, when he realized that Edward had been trying to tell him that all along. There were hints, but looking back, Beau knew he had excused them.

The two boys looked at each other in silence. Beau considered his next words carefully.

"Maybe dangerous . . . but not bad. No, I don't believe that you're bad."

"You're wrong."

Beau stared at him, wondering why he didn't feel afraid. Edward meant what he was saying—that was obvious. But Beau only felt anxious, on edge . . . and more than anything, fascinated. He felt the same way he always did when he was near Edward.

By now only five minutes of lunch remained. Beau jumped to his feet, startled by the rows of empty chairs around them. "Let's go, we're going to be late."

"I'm not going to class today."

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." Edward smiled, but his eyes were troubled.

Though Edward skipped class for an entire week, Beau had a hard time reconciling the idea of the doctor's perfect son ditching Biology again. Beau didn't want to risk it; schools in Phoenix were strict about attendance for athletes, and if he wanted to play ball this spring, his absences had to be kept to a minimum.

"Well, I'm going."

"I'll see you later, then."

Beau slung his backpack over one shoulder and tucked his hair into the Mariners cap. When he turned back at the doors, Edward hadn't moved an inch.

Beau was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room when he arrived. He felt Angela and Mike watching him with curious expressions. As far as they knew, Edward Cullen spoke to no one but his own family. Yet today he made an exception. Why?

Could they be friends as Edward suggested? Beau considered the implications of their too-quick lunch hour. More questions had been raised than answered. He was still no closer to learning the secrets Edward kept. And the danger he mentioned . . .

Maybe the whole thing was a fool's errand. Edward put heavy emphasis on them being friends, perhaps as a way not to lead him on. Because Beau did feel he was being lead into . . . something. Could he be friends with someone he was interested in? Someone who, for all intents and purposes, was unavailable to him?

The arrival of Mr. Banner was a welcome interruption to these uneasy thoughts. He came in with an armful of cardboard boxes and called the class to order. Beau watched the boxes make their way through the room as Mr. Banner snapped on a pair of blue rubber gloves. It was an ominous sight.

Mr. Banner went on to demonstrate the blood typing procedure on Mike, the nearest test subject, jabbing his finger with the lancet. A drop of blood appeared, bright red, visible from all sides of the room.

Beau wrapped both hands around the black tabletop. His stomach was roiling. He breathed slowly through his mouth, not inhaling, and tried very hard not to throw up.

But, unbidden, he felt his mind drifting back to that Phoenix locker room. Back to those boys, back to all that blood. _His_ blood. And the smell of it.

_Damn_. He should have ditched when he had the chance.

Beau began to shiver like he had the chills. The room was shimmering at the edges.

"Beau, are you all right?"

"Just nauseous, sir."

"Can someone take Beau to the nurse, please?"

Lauren volunteered, but Mr. Banner interjected politely to say she wasn't strong enough to support Beau's weight, and there was a good chance he'd fall on her. She didn't seem too upset by the idea. Beau shuddered at that mental image. In the end, Mike went with him, one hand pressed to his shoulders to tow him out of the classroom.

"Dude, you're green," Mike said nervously as they inched across campus.

"Just let me sit for a minute." Beau reached for the nearest bench and used it to slide directly onto the sidewalk. The cement was cool against his face. Mike sat on the bench, watching.

"Man, I gotta say, it's nice to know you have a weakness. You're the big man on campus now, you know that? Superman."

"Hardly," Beau mumbled, eyes closed. He knew a real-life Superman already. "You're the one going to the dance with Jessica."

"That's true."

Beau decided not to point out that Jessica asked him to the dance first. He was still so dizzy.

"Beau?"

_Oh no._ Please let him be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong—is he hurt?"

The voice was closer and sounded upset. Beau wasn't imagining it. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to die right there. Or, at the very least, not throw up on what he assumed was a designer pair of shoes.

"I think he fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."

"Beau." Edward's voice was right beside him, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," he groaned. "Go away."

"I was taking him to the nurse. " Mike was clearly uncomfortable speaking to Edward. "But he wouldn't go any further."

"I'll take him," Edward said smoothly. "You can go back to class."

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from underneath him. His eyes flew open in shock. Edward had pulled him into a standing position, their sides pressed together, his right arm curled around his waist. He slid Beau's left arm around his own neck. Then, he set off into a walk, as easily as if Beau weighed ten pounds.

"Put me down!"

"Hey!" Mike called, struggling to keep up.

"You look awful," Edward grinned, ignoring Mike, who soon fell behind them and disappeared.

"Put me back on the sidewalk."

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" This seemed to entertain him. "And not even your own blood."

"Oh my," someone gasped when the two boys arrived to the nurse's office. Edward guided Beau gently onto an empty cot, then stood across the room with his arms folded. His eyes were bright, excited.

"He fainted in Biology. They're blood typing today."

"There's always one," the nurse nodded. Edward snickered at her words. Beau was too unsteady to be insulted by it.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass. Does this happen a lot?"

"Sometimes," Beau admitted, allowing her to think it was only queasiness. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," the nurse told him.

"I'm supposed to stay with him." Edward said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get some ice for your forehead, dear."

Beau watched her go, then let his eyes close. "You were right."

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching _is_ healthy."

"You scared me for a minute there," Edward admitted. His tone made it sound like he was reliving a humiliating experience. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha ha."

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"You'll only have to do that if Mike kills me to become Superman."

"Pardon me? Did you hit your head again?"

"He called me, and I quote, 'the big man on campus.' Whatever that means. And the last time I hit my head, it was your fault."

"Poor Mike," Edward said cheerfully. "I'll bet he _is_ mad you didn't die. He absolutely loathes me, so, you're in good company."

"You can't know that," Beau argued, but then wondered suddenly if he could.

"I saw his face—I could tell."

"How did you see us, anyway? I thought you were ditching." Beau was almost fine now, though, as he realized the woozy feeling might have something to do with his lemonade-only-lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky his stomach was empty—nothing in there to throw up. But even with the light lunch, even minus the blood . . . it was really the memory of Phoenix that made him sick.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—that surprised Beau.

The nurse returned with a cold compress. "You're looking better."

Ms. Cope stuck her head into the room to warn of an incoming invalid. Beau jumped up from the cot to see Mike staggering through the door with a sallow-looking Lee Stephens. He and Edward drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no. Get out of here, Beau. Trust me—go."

Beau darted out of the room with Edward following close behind. "You actually listened to me."

"I smelled the blood," Beau told him.

"People can't smell blood."

"Well, I can," Beau muttered, already sorry he brought it up. "That's what made me sick. It smells like rust . . . and salt. What?"

Edward was staring at him with an unfathomable expression. "It's nothing."

The door opened again and Mike came out. He glanced curiously between the other two boys. "You look better. Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd have to turn around and come back."

Mike chuckled at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right. So, are you coming this weekend? To the beach?"

Beau watched his eyes flicker to Edward, who stood against the cluttered counter, motionless as a statue and staring off into space. He supposed Mike really did loathe Edward. But why? Sure, Edward could be unfriendly and hard to get to know . . . rich . . . rude. But he was a lot of other things, too.

Did Mike loathe Edward because, for a time, he had been the center of attention, at least until Beau showed up?

Was Mike serious earlier, about him showing weakness, about Beau being the big man on campus? And if he _was_ serious, why did he bother inviting Beau along?

Edward said they were in good company. Maybe that was true. Maybe Mike really did loathe both of them.

"Sure," Beau said at last, defeated. The impulse to assimilate was just too strong to ignore. "I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." Mike glanced at Edward again, who wasn't looking at him. Clearly it was not an open invitation.

"I'll be there."

"See you in Gym, then."

Beau watched him go, then groaned quietly. "I forgot about Gym."

"I can take care of that," Edward said in his ear. "Go sit down and look pale."

He watched Edward approach the counter and felt a surge of sympathy for Ms. Cope. The poor woman had no idea what she was in for.

"Ms. Cope? Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?"

Edward's voice was like melting honey. Beau couldn't see his face, but he could only imagine the sheer force of his eyes.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?"

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had become one. The women of Forks and the gay ex-baseball player didn't stand a chance against him.

"No, I have Señora Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," Ms. Cope called. He nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?"

"I'll walk."

Edward held the door, smiling politely, but his eyes were mocking. Beau walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice—the first time he'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed his face clean of the sticky perspiration.

"Thanks. It's almost worth getting sick to avoid dealing with Mike."

"Anytime." Edward was staring straight ahead, squinting into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?"

Beau was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. He couldn't picture Edward loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave Beau the first twinge of enthusiasm he'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going, exactly?"

"Down to La Push, to First Beach." Beau watched the gold eyes narrow infinitesimally.

"I really don't think I was invited."

"I just invited you."

"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.

"Mike-schmike," Beau muttered, preoccupied by the way Edward said _you and I._

They were near the parking lot now. Beau veered left, toward Big Red, until something caught his jacket and yanked him backwards.

"Where do you think you're going?" Edward asked, outraged. He had a fistful of Beau's jacket in one hand.

Beau was confused. "I'm going home."

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What condition? And what about my truck?"

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." Edward was towing Beau toward his Volvo now, pulling him along by the jacket. It was all Beau could do to keep from falling down. And if he did fall, Edward would probably just drag him along anyway, dead weight and all.

"Hey, lay off!"

Edward ignored him. When he finally freed him, Beau stumbled against the passenger door, stunned by the force of gravity.

"You just don't take _no_ for an answer, huh?"

"It's open," Edward said as he slid into the driver's seat. Beau glanced back at Big Red, calculating his chances of reaching the truck before he was caught. Those chances weren't good. Beau had seen how fast Edward moved to stop the van spinning out of control. He'd be toast.

"This is ridiculous. Edward, I'm fine."

Edward didn't answer. He was fiddling with the controls, the heater, even the music. Beau was preparing himself to dive for the steering wheel in sheer annoyance when he recognized the music playing.

"Clair de Lune?"

"You know Debussy?"

"Not well," he admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too." Edward stared out through the rain, lost in thought.

Beau listened to the music and let himself relax against the leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. Beau realized at one point that they were driving very fast, but the car moved so smoothly he barely felt the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What's your mother like?"

Beau glanced at Edward, surprised by the question. "She's beautiful. Very outgoing . . . more than I am, definitely. Braver. She's irresponsible . . . eccentric. A very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend."

He stopped. Discussing Renée was making him depressed. With a start, he realized they were at Charlie's house already.

"How old are you, Beau?"

"I'm seventeen."

"You don't seem seventeen."

"My mom always says I was born middle-aged," Beau laughed. "Someone has to be the adult, I guess. And you don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself."

Edward made a face at that. "So why did your mother marry Phil?"

Beau was surprised he remembered the name. He only mentioned it once, almost two months ago now.

"My mom . . . she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel younger. She's crazy about him."

"Do you approve?"

"Does it matter?" Beau asked. "I want her to be happy . . . and he's who she wants."

"That's very generous . . . I wonder," Edward mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching Beau's.

"I-I think so," Beau stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," Edward teased.

Beau grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings? Extensive tattoos? Drives expensive Swedish automobiles?"

"I suppose we define scary a little differently."

"What's your definition?"

Edward ignored that question. "Do you think that _I_ could be scary?"

Beau thought about it. "I think you _could_ be, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me now?"

"No," Beau answered, too quickly. He _was_ frightened, but not in the way he expected. "So, are you going tell me about your family? I'm sure it's a much more interesting story than mine."

Edward was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?"

"Yes."

Beau hesitated, sensing he was nearing unsettled territory. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them."

"Yes," Edward smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"And your brother and sister?"

Edward glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go." Beau was reluctant to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." Edward was grinning.

"I'm sure he's already heard," Beau muttered. "No secrets in this town."

"Have fun at the beach . . . good weather for sunbathing." Edward glanced out at the sheeting rain.

"You're not going to school tomorrow?"

"No, Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? He hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in his voice.

"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

Beau remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping a lot.

"Oh, well, have fun." Beau tried to sound enthusiastic, but Edward wasn't fooled. A smile was playing on the edge of his lips.

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look Beau straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.

Beau nodded helplessly.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attracts accidents like a magnet. So . . . try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?"

Beau glared at the crooked smile. "I'll see what I can do."

Then he jumped out into the rain and slammed the door with more force than necessary.

Edward was still smiling as he drove away.

* * *

**A/N**: Play nice, boys!

Don't forget to vote for _Number Our Days_ in the Twific Fandom Awards! Round 1 closes on March 3rd.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Fair is Foul

_O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st that Banquo and his Fleance lives._

Of all the Bard's works, _Macbeth_ was Beau's favorite. He loved diving into the madness and bloody squabbling for the throne. Normally, the tragedy was more than enough to hold his concentration, but not today.

Today Beau sat listening for the roar of Big Red, knowing that the engine was impossible to disguise. No sound betrayed the truck's arrival. But when he pulled back the curtains one last time, it was there, parked silently as if by witchcraft.

He wasn't looking forward to school on Friday. Not only would a certain person be absent, but he also had to put up with the comments about him fainting. Mike in particular seemed to get a kick out of telling the story. It had the opposite of his intended effect, however, when Jessica and Lauren dissolved into near-tears at the thought of Beau passed out on the cement. Beau chalked it up to low blood sugar and thanked Mike sincerely for helping him get to the nurse before his condition worsened. Mike, scowling and wittily outmatched, left it at that.

"So what did Edward Cullen want yesterday?" Jessica asked in Trig.

Beau thought the blood sugar story bought him a few moments of peace. He closed his eyes for a second, as if tired by her line of questioning.

"We talked about theories . . . for Biology. Banner is giving us a test next week." It was as good a lie as any.

"That's all? You looked kind of mad at him."

He shrugged. "Did I?"

"You know, I've never seen him sit with anyone but his family before. That was weird."

"Weird," Beau agreed, watching the impatience brewing on her face. Deprived of the information she wanted, Jessica had no use for him, and he spent a productive hour working on triple angle formulas.

The worst part about the day was even though Beau knew Edward wasn't going to be there, he still hoped, and walked into the cafeteria with Jessica, Mike, and his own mounting anticipation for company. His eyes landed on the Cullen table anyway. Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper looked to be having a serious conversation; Beau had a bad feeling he knew precisely what their discussion regarded. And soon gloom settled into his chest at the realization he had no idea when Edward was coming back. Edward _had_ promised to warn him before starting another cold war, but even so, Beau tried to keep his spirits up, and listened as the lunchtime gang excitedly talked about the beach trip.

Mike assured everyone the weatherman promised sunshine, and since the temperature today had reached sixty, that a cloud-free day was almost a definite. Beau felt he had to see it to believe it, and hoped the trip would be enough to take his mind off Edward.

Charlie seemed enthusiastic at dinner as they discussed the outing to La Push. The chief knew all the kids going to the beach, their parents, and their grandparents, and seemed to approve that Beau had fallen in with the right crowd.

Beau suspected Charlie felt guilty for leaving him alone on the weekends. But the chief spent seventeen years building these habits, and it didn't seem fair for Beau to ask him to break them. He wondered how different it might be, say, if Charlie had a daughter, and if their relationship would change. Or, better yet, if Beau was honest with Charlie about himself and his sexuality. But truth be told, the man said hide nor hair about sexuality in general. Beau thought that might be more of a father thing than a Charlie thing.

And on the topic of secrets, Beau had yet to tell his father about going to Seattle with Edward Cullen. Not that he planned to say anything. So as long as he was playing the dutiful son, Beau felt he was entitled to some privacy about who he spent time with, at least for now.

"Dad, do you know a place called Goat Rocks? I think it's south of Mount Rainier."

"Yeah, why?"

"Some kids were talking about camping there," Beau said in what he hoped as a casual tone.

"It's not a very good place for camping. Too many bears. Most people go there during hunting season."

"Oh." Beau frowned. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

Bright yellow sunshine woke him the next morning. Beau grinned and turned to study his little succulents. They were blooming under his fluorescent light, but he knew they were craving the real thing, just like him. Beau set the plants on his windowsill so they could get the afternoon sunlight later.

Newtons' Olympic Outfitters stood just north of town. Beau pulled up next to Mike's Suburban and Tyler's new Sentra, scanning the group gathering in the parking lot. Most of his classmates were already there—Eric, Ben, Conner, along with Jessica, Angela, and Lauren. Lee, the other fainting boy from Biology, was also there, and a few others Beau recognized from the cafeteria. When he climbed out of the truck, Jessica hurried over to him, beaming.

"You came! We _told_ you it would be sunny."

Mike joined them beside Big Red. "We're just waiting on a few more . . . unless you invited someone."

"Nope," Beau lied, adjusting the brim of his hat, and the other boy looked satisfied by this answer. Mike liked to be number one, even if it meant sharing Jessica. Today he must have felt generous in his victory, because he awarded shotgun to Beau, who wedged Jessica in the middle in an effort to appease both of them. Her hand would drift to his knee every time the car braked, but mostly, Mike held her attention for the length of the drive.

It was only a fifteen minute ride to La Push. The road was lined with dense, green forests and ran alongside the Quillayute River. Beau was glad of the window seat, studying the greenery as they passed. The trees made his succulents look microscopic in comparison.

He'd been to the seaside area around La Push dozens of times with Charlie. The mile-long crescent of First Beach stirred up memories of the dark water, soaring cliffs, and bone-white driftwood dotting the shoreline. Beau stuck his hand out of the window and let the sunlight catch his skin as they drove. Far out in the distance, seagulls and surfers skimmed the waves, joined occasionally by random, vertical puffs of water by the migrating gray whales. He hoped to see one of them breach the surface before the day was done.

Beau joined the rest of the boys who were gathering branches for kindling. Supplies were hauled from the cars and soon a campsite emerged. Mike lit a driftwood fire for Jessica's benefit, who politely _ooh-ed_ and _aah-ed_ for his efforts. Later, Beau broke away from the large group, taking the opportunity to hike to the tide pools with a few others.

He found a stable-looking rock and laid flat on his stomach, spellbound by the natural aquarium below. There were sea anemones in every color—violet, yellow, and soft white; motionless starfish that shivered at his touch; shells warped by the frequent push and pull of the water. Though completely absorbed, a small part of his mind wondered what Edward was doing now, and what they might talk about if here together.

The group left behind on the beach had multiplied with newcomers from the reservation when they returned. Beau sat down next to Angela as food and sodas came around the circle. Beau shot a significant glance in Ben's direction; the other boy was sitting alone and chowing down on two double hamburgers. His new friend only smiled mysteriously, reached for her Coke, and said nothing at all. Beau took her lead and they ate in a comfortable silence.

Beau thought about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks since he arrived. Sometimes it was a blur; some days, single images stood out more clearly than others. He knew exactly what caused the difference, and that fact was disturbing. Beau was starting to feel like one of the shells he saw in the tide pools—warped by the push and pull of pressure around him.

The group split off after lunch. Some gathered for a second tide pool expedition; others, including Mike and Jessica, took off for the lone shop in the village. Lauren and Tyler occupied themselves by the CD player someone had thought to bring. Beau sat alone on the driftwood log, watching the blue flames leap and crackle. Though he had his doubts for the day, for once, he was happy to be wrong.

A younger boy from the reservation joined him a few minutes later. He had a familiar face, with long, glossy black hair and dark eyes.

"You're Beaufort Swan, aren't you?"

"Beau," he corrected him, taking the other boy's extended hand. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Jacob Black. You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh, right!" Beau laughed, embarrassed. "You're Billy's son. I probably should remember you, huh?"

"Nah, I'm the youngest of the family—you probably would remember my older sisters."

"The twins," Beau nodded. "Sure. Are they here?"

Charlie and Billy had thrown their families together a lot back then. Beau remembered both he and the girls were too shy to make much progress as friends. He also recalled another person in the Black house—Sarah, Billy's wife, and mother to Rachel, Rebecca, and Jacob. She died in a car accident around the same time he decided to cancel his annual visits to Forks.

"No, Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer—she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." There had to be something in the water here. Charlie and Renée weren't much older than he was now when they tied the knot. It was like a disease or something.

"So how do you like the truck?"

"I love it," he said sincerely. "It runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," Jacob laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not _that _slow."

"Have you ever tried to go over sixty?"

"No," he admitted.

"Good. Don't."

"It does great in a collision," Beau offered, a last stab in his truck's defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster."

They laughed together for a moment. He decided Jacob was very easy to talk with. Beau remembered Billy being a rather chatty person as well. _Like father like son_, Beau thought wryly, considering his own taciturn father.

"So you build cars?"

"When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?"

He might as well have been speaking gibberish; Beau laughed. "Sorry. I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you."

Jacob flashed a bright, brilliant smile, and threw him an appreciative look that Beau was learning to recognize. But this was the first time it came from another boy. Across the circle, bored with the CD player, Lauren and Tyler came to sit on their log. Beau found himself on the receiving end of an odd, almost hostile glare from Tyler, and turned to listen to Lauren and Jacob's conversation.

"Do you know Beau, Jacob?"

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," the younger boy laughed.

"Same with all of us," Lauren agreed, then considered her own words, frowning. "Well, minus Beau, because he's new. And the Cullens—they never show up to these things. Too good for us, I guess."

"Do you mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?"

A tall, older boy interrupted them, much to Lauren's irritation. He was older than he first appeared, and his voice was very deep.

"Yes, do you know them?"

"The Cullens don't come here," he replied, ignoring her blatant curiosity. Beau stared at the newcomer, taken aback, but he was looking toward the forest. He said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone implied something more—that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on Beau, and he tried unsuccessfully to ignore it.

Bored when the boy did not elaborate, Lauren and Tyler decided to go to the village shop. The older boy wandered away and left Beau and Jacob alone again.

"So is Forks driving you crazy yet?"

"Oh, I'd say that's an understatement."

The two shared a playful grimace. Beau was still mulling over the brief aside about the Cullens when he was struck with a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan. He felt manipulative to even consider it, but he didn't have any better ideas, and lying had become his frequent, unfortunate habit. He just hoped that young Jacob was a little more inexperienced with boys than he was.

"Do you want to take a walk down the beach with me?" Beau asked while trying to smile in that crooked way Edward did. It couldn't have had nearly the same effect, but Jacob jumped up willingly enough.

As they walked north toward the seawall, the clouds began to gather overhead, and the temperature dropped. Beau took the Mariners cap off and spun it absently in his hands. It was the first time he could remember even allowing himself to flirt. He only hoped it wouldn't be as awkward as he imagined.

"So you're, what, sixteen?"

Jacob looked flattered. "I just turned fifteen."

"Really? I would have thought you were older. Do you come up to Forks much?"

"Not too much," he admitted. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want—after I get my license, of course."

Beau nodded, understanding. The local bus service from La Push to Forks only ran a couple times a day; here, the car was king. They walked for a little while longer, silent, the only sound being the crunch of pebbles underfoot. Beau tried a different tact.

"Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us."

"That's Sam—he's nineteen."

"He seemed . . . upset . . . when Lauren mentioned the doctor's family."

"The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." Jacob looked away, confirming what Beau thought he heard in Sam's voice. Prohibited, indeed. But why them, specifically? Many people came through the reservation daily for recreational activities, but the Cullens—avid hikers and campers, according to all—did not, and apparently, could not.

"Why not?"

"I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious," Beau smiled, holding his gaze. Soon Jacob was returning the smile. One dark eyebrow lifted and his voice became husky.

"Do you like scary stories?"

Beau ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, painfully aware of how silly he must look at this moment. "I _love_ them."

It seemed to do the trick. Beau followed Jacob to a driftwood tree and joined him on one of the white, clawlike roots. As they settled in, Jacob stared down at the rocks, no doubt trying to make this telling a good one. Beau focused on keeping the true interest out of his eyes.

"Do you know any of our old stories, about where they came from—the Quileutes, I mean?"

"Not really."

"I didn't think so—some of them are only told at the tribe bonfires. Well, there's a legend that claims that we descend from wolves—that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them. Then there are the stories about the _cold ones_."

"The cold ones?" Beau repeated. He wasn't faking his intrigue now.

"Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my great-grandfather, Ephraim Black, knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land."

"Your great-grandfather?"

"Ephraim was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not _the_ wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."

"Werewolves have enemies?"

"Only one."

Beau was admiring; Jacob had a way with words. He forgot this conversation began as a ploy—the thrill of new information was almost too much to contain.

"So you see," Jacob continued. "The cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way the others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So Ephraim made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces."

He winked, making Beau grin. "If they weren't dangerous, then why . . . ?"

"There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist."

Beau fought back a shiver. "What do you mean 'civilized'?"

"They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were able to prey on animals instead."

"So how do the Cullens fit into it? Are they like the cold ones your great-grandfather met?"

"No." He paused dramatically. "They are the _same_ ones."

Something in his expression pleased Jacob; he must have thought the fear there was inspired by the story.

"There are more of them now, a new female and a new male, but the rest are the same. In my great-grandfather's time they already knew of the leader, Carlisle. He'd been here and gone before _your_ people had even arrived."

"And what are they?" Beau finally asked. "What are _cold ones_?"

"Blood drinkers. Your people call them vampires."

Beau stared out at the rough surf, trying to absorb what he just heard. He was chilled all the way to the bone.

"O, full of scorpions is my mind," He murmured, too low for Jacob to hear. The other boy, unaware of his silent distress, looked delighted.

"Beau, you have goosebumps."

"You're a good storyteller." Beau was still staring into the waves. A small part of his brain rejoiced at a potential solution to the mystery, and yet, a greater part of him felt even more frustrated. But then, why did the story feel so solid, so true?

Beau had witnessed things that defied rational explanation. Was it really that big of a leap?

"Pretty crazy stuff, though, isn't it? No wonder my dad doesn't want us to talk about it to anyone."

"Don't worry, I won't give you away." Beau wasn't sure how to start processing this information, much less tell anyone else. The story was out there—crazy—and yet, stranger things had happened. He'd seen as much in the parking lot at the high school.

"I guess I just violated the treaty."

"I'll take it to the grave," Beau promised, then shivered again. It was far too soon to joke like that.

"Seriously, though, don't say anything to Charlie," Jacob pleaded. "He was pretty mad at my dad when he heard that some of us weren't going to the hospital since Dr. Cullen started working there."

Beau thought back to his father's tirade about the local impression of the Cullens. It extended much further than he thought. Charlie no doubt would have the same incredulous reaction, but then, Charlie didn't know what the tribe did . . . what Beau did . . .

"I won't say anything. I think you're very good at telling scary stories, though. I still have goosebumps, see?"

"Cool," Jacob smiled.

And then the sound of beach rocks clattering against each other warned of someone approaching. Their heads snapped up at the same time to see Mike and Jessica about fifty yards away, walking toward them.

"There you are, Beau," Jessica called.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Jacob asked, alerted by the jealous edge in her voice. Beau was surprised it was so obvious. Even Mike looked irritated by it.

"No, definitely not," Beau whispered. He was grateful to Jacob and eager to make him as happy as possible. He winked, careful to keep it out of Jessica's line of sight. Jacob smiled back, elated by his inept flirting.

"So when I get my license . . . " he began.

"You should come see me in Forks. We could hang out sometime." Beau felt guilty as he said it, knowing he effectively used him for information. But he really did like Jacob. He was someone Beau could easily be friends with.

The other two reached them at last. "Where have you been?"

"Jacob was just telling me some local stories. It was really interesting."

"Oh, well, cool," Jessica glanced between all three boys. "We're packing up—it looks like it's going to rain soon."

"Okay, I'm coming."

"It was nice to see you again, Beau." Jacob shook his hand one more time. It was a strangely formal gesture after hanging out for so long.

"It really was. Next time Charlie comes down to see Billy, I'll come, too."

Jacob's answering grin was wide. "Looking forward to it."

"And thanks," Beau added earnestly.

He pulled up his hood as they tramped across the rocks to the parking lot. A few drops were already beginning to fall. The others were loading up the Suburban quickly to avoid the incoming storm.

Beau crawled into the back row with Tyler on his left and Angela on the right. The former spent the ride chatting with Lauren, the latter fell asleep on his shoulder, and Beau closed his eyes, trying very hard not to think.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you as always for your reviews, I treasure them. Thanks again for taking this little journey with me every week.


	8. Port Angeles

Beau told Charlie he had a lot of homework to do and that he wasn't hungry. There was a basketball game coming on that the chief was excited about, so he didn't notice anything amiss, even the rare event of Beau skipping a meal.

Once in his room, Beau locked the door, then went hunting for his CD player. Phil had given him a copy of _Absolution_ for Christmas. It was probably the first thing since their wedding in September that made him smile. Renée glowed with happiness that morning, clearly relieved her broken son was on the mend, at least physically.

Beau concentrated very carefully on the music. The shattering beats made it impossible to think. By the third time he listened to the CD, he knew all the words to the choruses, and sang along until he fell asleep.

He opened his eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of his consciousness that he was dreaming, Beau studied the green light of the forest above, hoping to see the sun. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks was close by. He tried to follow the noise, but then Jacob Black was there, pulling him toward the blackest part of the forest.

"Jacob? What's wrong?"

"Run, Beau, you have to run!" Jacob whispered, terrified.

"This way, Beau!" Jessica's voice called out from the gloomy heart of the trees, but she did not appear.

"Jacob!"

The other boy had landed hard on the forest floor. A large red-brown wolf with black eyes was in his place. The wolf faced the shore, his fur bristling, low growls ripping from his muzzle.

"Beau, run!" Jessica cried out again. But Beau didn't turn. He was watching a light coming toward him from the beach.

Edward stepped out from the trees, his skin glowing, eyes black and dangerous. He lifted one hand to beckon Beau; the wolf snarled in response.

Beau took a step toward Edward. He smiled then, his teeth sharp, white, and pointed.

"Trust me," he purred.

Beau took another step, but before he could go on, the wolf launched himself at the vampire, aiming for the jugular.

"No!" Beau wrenched himself upright out of bed. The sudden movement sent the CD player clattering to the floor. His light was still on; it was five thirty in the morning.

Beau groaned, fell back, and kicked off his boots. It was no use. His subconscious dredged up the exact images he wanted to avoid. Now he had to face them.

The shower didn't last as long as he wanted. Beau stood in front of the mirror to shave, and, still preoccupied with the strange dream, nicked himself with the razor.

"Damn it," Beau hissed, pressing hard on his jaw with his fingers. His stomach churned at the sight of the blood.

He dressed slowly and made the bed—something he never did. The missing cruiser informed him Charlie had gone fishing, leaving Beau with zero distractions. He went to his desk and switched on the old computer.

He hated using the Internet here. It took an infuriatingly long time to load up. After closing the pop-up ads, he took a deep breath, then typed in one word.

_Vampire_.

There was a lot to sift through—everything from movies to TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, niche porn, and gothic makeup supply sites. Finally a promising site appeared—Vampires A-Z. Two quotes greeted him on the homepage:

_Throughout the vast shadowy world of ghosts and demons there is no figure so terrible, no figure so dreaded and abhorred, yet dight with such fearful fascination, as the vampire, who is himself neither ghost nor demon, but yet who partakes the dark natures and possesses the mysterious and terrible qualities of both_. — _Rev. Montague Summers_

_If there is in this world a well-attested account, it is that of the vampires. Nothing is lacking: official reports, affidavits of well-known people, of surgeons, of priests, of magistrates; the judicial proof is most complete. And with all that, who is there who believes in vampires? — Rousseau_

The rest of the site contained an alphabetized listing of vampire myths held throughout the world. Beau searched for anything that sounded plausible. Most of the myths were centered around beautiful, demonic women and children as their chosen victims. Others seemed to explain the everyday horrors of child mortality, infidelity, famine, improper burials, and—his mood souring as he read on—homosexuality. Very few, like the Hebrew _Estrie_ and the Polish _Upier_, were even preoccupied with drinking blood.

Only three entries caught his attention: the Romanian _Varacolaci_, a powerful undead being who appeared as a beautiful pale-skinned human; the Slovak _Nelapsi,_ a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight, and the _Stregoni benefici._

_Stregoni benefici: An Italian vampire, said to be on the side of goodness, and a mortal enemy of all evil vampires._

A lone entry among hundreds claimed the existence of good vampires. At least that was something.

Overall, he found little that coincided with Jacob's stories or his own observations. Speed, strength, beauty, pale skin, and eyes that shift in color. Blood drinkers, enemies of the werewolf, cold-skinned, and immortal. None of the myths lined up exactly right. And then there was another problem, backed up by movies and today's reading—vampires were nocturnal creatures. The sun would burn them to a cinder.

Aggravated and embarrassed, Beau snapped off the power switch, not waiting to shut things down properly. It was all so stupid. He was sitting alone, researching vampires, in the twenty-first century. What was wrong with him? He decided most of the blame belonged on the doorstep of the town of Forks—and the entire sodden Olympic Peninsula, for that matter.

He had to get out of the house, but there was nowhere he wanted to go that didn't involve a three-day drive. Beau thought about driving to school and using the weight room again, but decided against it. He was starting to think the place was creepy on the weekends, anyway.

Beau cut across the yard under an overcast sky. It didn't take long until he was far enough into the forest for everything else to fade away. The only noticeable sound was the plod of the earth under his boots and shrill cries of the jays.

Beau continued down the thin ribbon of the trail as it snaked around the Sitka spruces, hemlocks, and maples. He remembered Charlie pointing out each one from the window of the cruiser. The chief made it a game when Beau correctly identified three trees in a row.

The anger that pushed him forward had ebbed away. Beau slowed to a stop near a newly fallen tree. Restless, he spun on his heel and began to pace.

This was the wrong place to have come. The forest was too similar to his dream for peace of mind. Without the sound of his soggy footsteps, the silence was piercing. Even the birds had quieted.

Here, cloaked from the outside world, it was much easier to believe what embarrassed him indoors. The forest around Beau had stayed the same for thousands of years. All the myths and legends seemed more likely in this green haze than they had from a computer screen.

Beau forced himself to focus on the two most vital questions. First, he had to consider the possibility that what Jacob told him about the Cullens could be true.

His mind responded negatively almost at once. How could he entertain something so ridiculous? But what, then? There was no rational explanation for how he was alive at this moment. He went through all his observations: the impossible speed and strength, the eye color shifting from black to gold and back again, the inhuman beauty, the pale, frigid skin. And more—small things that registered slowly—how they never seemed to eat, their disturbing grace, even the way _he_ spoke. Unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit a turn-of-the-century novel than that of a classroom in 2005.

He skipped class the day they did blood typing. He hadn't declined the invite to the beach until he heard where they were going, a place that he would not be welcome. He seemed to know what everyone around him was thinking . . . except Beau. He said he was the villain, dangerous . . . all the pieces, jagged and incongruous, suddenly seemed to fit together.

Could the Cullens be vampires?

They were _something_. Whether it be Jacob's _cold ones_ or his own superhero theory, Edward Cullen was not . . . human. He was definitely something more.

So then—maybe. That would have to be his answer for now.

And then the most important question of all: what was he going to do if it was true?

_If_ Edward was a vampire—he could hardly make himself think the words—then what should he do? Involving someone else was definitely out.

Only two options seemed practical. The first was to take Edward's advice: be smart and avoid him as much as possible. Cancel their plans and go back to ignoring him. Pretend there was an impenetrably thick glass wall between them in Biology. Tell Edward to leave him alone—and mean it this time.

Beau was gripped with a painful ache at this idea. His mind rejected it and skipped to the next alternative.

He could do nothing. After all, if Edward was something . . . sinister, he'd done nothing to hurt him so far. There would be Beau-sized dent in the van if Edward hadn't acted so quickly.

There was one thing he was sure of: the dark Edward from the dream was a reflection of his fear of the word, not Edward himself. And even then, when he'd screamed out in terror at the werewolf's lunge, it wasn't fear for the wolf that brought the cry to his lips. It was fear that _he_ would be harmed. Even when Edward called to him with sharp-edged fangs, Beau feared for _him._

In his mind, the . . . _vampirism_ . . . was a kind of otherness. It was something that set Edward apart from other people. It made him withdrawn, secretive, angry. And Beau was familiar with all of those things.

By now he had his answer. There was never any choice; he was already in too deep to turn back. When he thought of Edward, his voice, those hypnotic eyes, and the magnetic force of his personality, he wanted nothing more than to be with him at this moment. Even if . . . he couldn't finish.

Beau hurried down the path back to Charlie's house. Minutes later he was free of the green maze, the house promising warmth, sanctuary, and dry socks.

It was just past noon. Beau went upstairs and changed. He was determined to concentrate on his _Macbeth _assignment. He settled himself at the kitchen table to outline his rough draft. It was the most content he'd felt since Thursday afternoon.

This had always been his way. Making decisions was hard, but once he made them, he always followed through, relieved that the choosing part was over. He chose to stay quiet about the boys who beat him up, he chose to allow his mother to homeschool him for the fall semester, then he chose to move to Forks. Sometimes this relief was tainted by despair, like allowing his teammates to escape punishment. But it was still better than wrestling with the alternatives.

This decision was easy to live with. Dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet, productive—he finished the paper before eight o'clock. Charlie came home with a large catch; Beau made a mental note to pick up a recipe book in Seattle next week. The chills that ran up his spine when he considered the trip were no different than those he felt before taking the walk with Jacob Black. They should be different, but he couldn't capture the right type of fear.

He slept dreamlessly and awoke to another sunny day. His succulents were arched happily toward the sunlight. Beau gave them a little water, then opened the window, surprised when it slid open silently. The air was almost warm and hardly windy at all. He pulled the Band-Aid off his face and dashed out of the room.

The chief was finishing his breakfast when Beau thundered down the stairs.

"Nice day out," Charlie commented, picking up on his mood immediately.

"Yes," Beau agreed with a grin.

His father smiled back, brown eyes crinkling around the edges. When Charlie smiled, it was easy to see why his parents jumped so quickly into an early marriage. Most of that young romantic faded long before Beau had known him, as had the curly brown hair they both shared. Beau hoped the receding hair was due to the stress of the job. But when the chief smiled, he could see a little of the man who ran away with Renée at nineteen.

He rolled down both windows of the truck for the drive. Early to school, he found a sunny seat on the picnic benches, then bent over his Trig homework. It wasn't long before he was sketching in the margins instead. Five pairs of dark eyes were gazing up at him from the paper. Beau removed the Mariners cap and ran a hand through his hair, lost in thought.

"Beau!"

"Hey, Jess," he called, waving back, unable to be halfhearted on a morning like this one.

"I never noticed before—your hair has red in it," Jessica said, smoothing a curl at the top of his head. She joined him on his side of the bench.

"Only in the sun," he said, uncomfortable now. Her physical contact with him grew more brazen by the day. It was nothing like his teasing embrace of Angela in the cafeteria; Jessica was testing the waters.

"Great day isn't it?"

"My kind of day."

"What did you do yesterday?" Jessica inched closer. Beau shifted away in response.

"I worked on my essay."

Jessica hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. Mr. Mason wasn't terribly creative and assigned the same paper to the entire junior class. "Oh yeah—that's due Thursday, right?"

"Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" she repeated. "That's not good . . . what are you writing yours on?"

"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic."

Jessica stared as though he spoke in pig Latin. "I guess I'll have to work on that tonight. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh." Beau was taken off guard. Why couldn't they have a pleasant conversation without it getting awkward?

"We could go to dinner or something . . . and I could work on it later."

"I don't think that would be the best idea."

Her face fell. "Why?"

"I'm sure I'm breaking guy code by saying this, but Mike would be upset."

She was bewildered. "Mike?"

"Jess, seriously. You know he's interested in you."

"Oh . . . right."

Beau stood up to make his escape. "It's time for class, and I can't be late again."

When he saw Lauren later that morning, she was bubbling with enthusiasm. She, Jessica, and Angela were going to Port Angeles to go dress shopping for the dance. She invited him to come and provide a "guy's opinion." And once her parents learned the chief's son was available to come along, they extended her curfew by two hours.

Beau was indecisive. It would be nice to get out of town for the night, but Jessica was going. Her discontent with him was certain to bubble over at some point.

He nodded at all the dance talk on the way to lunch. As he walked into the cafeteria, the first true tingle of fear slithered down his spine, then settled into his stomach. Would they know what he was thinking? Then a different feeling jolted through him—would Edward be waiting to sit with him again?

The Cullens' usual table was empty. Beau scoured the cafeteria anyway, hoping to see him tucked away in a dark corner, but there was no sign of Edward or his siblings. Beau slid into his chair at the table, not bothering to listen anymore.

Angela asked a few quiet questions about the _Macbeth_ paper. He answered as naturally as he could, thanking her when she, too, invited him to Port Angeles. He agreed and decided to spend most of the trip in the bookstore.

A new wave of disappointment hit him in Biology. Their shared lab table was empty.

The rest of the day passed slowly. He was eager to let his arm hang out of the window and let the sun get to his hair. But the moment he walked in the door, Angela called to tell him the trip had been moved to tomorrow night. Jessica and Mike were going to dinner, which explained the rescheduling. He was relieved to hear something he said got through to Jessica, but it did nothing to lift his own mood.

There was little to do around the house. Dinner was prepped and his homework wrapped up quickly. Beau went through his inbox and fired off a few replies to his mother.

_Mom,_

_Sorry. I've been out. I went to the beach with some friends. It's sunny outside today—I know, I'm shocked, too—so I'm going to go outside and soak up as much vitamin D as I can._

_I love you,_

_Beau_

Beau decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. He had a shabby compilation of Jane Austen's works, an old quilt, and a fervent, familiar desire to avoid thinking his own thoughts. He sat down and flipped through the pages, comforted by the activity.

That is until he remembered literally every male character in the compilation was _Edward _or _Edmund_. He snapped the book shut, annoyed, and rolled over onto his back. In that position Beau did crunches until he couldn't move. He pulled the lid of the Mariners cap low over his eyes and focused on the heat of the sunlight on his skin.

The next thing he was conscious of was the sound of the cruiser in the driveway. He sat up and realized the light was gone. He looked around, muddled, with the sudden feeling he wasn't alone.

"Dad?"

Beau jumped up, wincing at the exertion so soon after the crunches, and followed his father into the house. Charlie was hanging up his gun belt and when he came in.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet—I fell asleep outside."

"Don't worry about it, I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway."

He sat through a mindless sitcom with Charlie after dinner. His father seemed happy they were spending time together. It felt good, despite his depression, that Beau could make him happy.

"Dad," Beau said during a commercial, "Lauren and Angela are going to Port Angeles to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night. They asked me to come along. Do you mind if I go?"

Charlie was mystified. "To help them find dresses?"

Beau lifted his hands to make air quotes. "They want a 'guy's opinion.'"

"But you're not going to the dance, right?"

"No, I'm tagging along. I used to go with Mom all the time." That usually meant reading outside the dressing room and guarding her other purchases.

"Well, okay. That's nice of you to look out for them in the city."

Beau almost laughed. Knowing what he might have discovered about his classmate, he was no match for what lay in the shadows, even in the non threatening ones in Port Angeles.

It was sunny again the morning. He circled the parking lot with a sinking heart, looking for a space, while also searching for the absent silver Volvo. He parked in the last row and hurried to English before the final bell.

It was the same as yesterday—he just couldn't keep the little sprouts of hope from budding in his mind, only to have them stomped on painfully at the sight of the empty tables.

The Port Angeles scheme was a go but with a small snag. Lauren now had other obligations, which left him with Angela, and unfortunately, Jessica. But Mike and Jessica went on a date last night, and he hoped that event, plus his bookstore scheme, would be enough to avoid her attention for most of the trip. He had his doubts that Seattle was still on, but he was sure Edward wouldn't cancel without at least telling him.

Jessica followed him home in her old white Mercury so he could park Big Red and drop his books. He was excited to get away from Forks for a few hours.

They made another stop to pick up Angela, turned onto the 101, and drove out of the town limits.

* * *

Jessica drove faster than the Chief, so they made it to Port Angeles by four. She provided as many details as possible about her date with Mike, especially the hope they would progress to the first-kiss stage soon. Beau thought most of it was a bald effort to make him jealous.

Angela was very excited to be going to the dance with Ben. Jessica tried to get her to confess if _they_ had progressed to the first-kiss stage yet, but Beau interrupted with a question about the restaurant they had reservations for tonight, to spare her an interrogation. Angela threw a relieved glance his way.

Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, more polished and quaint than Forks. Jessica and Angela knew it well and avoided the busy boardwalk in favor of the department store. He trailed after them glumly.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and the girls weren't exactly sure what that meant. Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when Beau said he'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.

"Didn't you ever go with a girlfriend or something?"

"I didn't go out much . . . except for practices and games," he shrugged. Beau held the door open for them and wished he hadn't brought it up at all.

"Why not?"

"No one ever asked me."

Jessica's voice dropped to a resentful mutter. "People ask you out here and you tell them no."

He was rearing up to defend himself when Angela came to his rescue. "Well, except for Lauren."

"What?"

"Lauren told everyone you're taking her to prom," Jessica said suspiciously.

"She said _what_?"

"I told you it wasn't true," Angela murmured.

Beau found a bench near the racks and tore off his hat in frustration. The girls had a short, silent, discussion in front of the hangers before turning back to him.

"That's why Tyler's hanging around so much. Trying to edge you out, war-of-attrition-style," Jessica continued, her arms quickly filling with dresses. Beau took the pile from her, an old habit, and sat down again. He was still fuming.

It was unbelievable. Lauren was _clueless_. She practically forced him to motorboat her in Biology and he _still_ said no. Wasn't that a clear enough answer? Did he have to wave a rainbow flag in the middle of the cafeteria to make her understand?

"Maybe that's why Tyler almost ran me over with his van. It was a long con to get me out of the way."

"Maybe," Jessica snickered. "Though he could hardly plan for the ice that day."

The girls peeked out of the dressing rooms for his opinion, twirling, occasionally tossing him their rejects over the top of the door. Beau followed them to the shoe section as the earlier gloom crept back into his mind.

"Angela?" He began, hesitant, while she tried on a pair of strappy pink heels. Jessica had drifted away to the jewelry counter.

"Yes?"

He chickened out. "Those are nice."

"I think I'll get them, though they'll never match anything but the one dress . . . and they make me even taller than him."

"Oh, go ahead, Ben knows how tall you are."

She smiled at that, putting the lid back on a box of a more practical-looking pair. Beau forced out the next words before he lost his nerve.

"Um, Angela . . . is it normal for the . . . Cullens . . . to be out of school a lot?"

"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time—even the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy."

"Oh."

Beau waited for the inevitable questions, but none came; Angela had moved on to compliment the ugly jewelry Jessica found. He watched her listen patiently to the other girl and counted himself lucky for her friendship.

The trio had made reservations at La Bella Italia on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as Beau expected. Jessica and Angela decided to take their purchases back to the car. He told them he'd meet up at the restaurant in an hour—he wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come along, but he encouraged them to go on without him, knowing how preoccupied he could get when surrounded by books.

He had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it was a type he hoped to avoid, full of crystals, dream-catchers, and spiritual healing manuals. There was even a _Keep Port Angeles Weird_ sign in the window. It was staffed by a graying hippie behind the counter; that was one conversation he hoped to avoid. There had to be a normal bookstore in town.

Beau meandered through the streets, weaving between the working professionals, other tourists, and busy locals. He wasn't paying much attention to his route; he was struggling with his thoughts. He tried very hard not to think about Edward, and what Angela had said . . . and more than anything trying to beat down his hopes for Saturday.

His eyes landed on a silver Volvo parked along the street. Then it all came crashing down on him. _Stupid, unreliable vampir_e. There was still a lot of time to kill before dinner, but he definitely had to get his bad mood sorted out before he met up with the girls again.

He realized he was going the wrong way. The little foot traffic he saw was going north. The buildings on either side of this street were mostly warehouses. He decided to turn east at the next corner, loop around after a few blocks, and try his luck on a different street en route back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner he was heading for, dressed too casually to be working professionals, but too grimy for tourists. The men joked loudly amongst themselves, laughing raucously, punching each other's arms. He leaned to the right to give them room.

"Hey, there!" one of them called as they swaggered past. Beau glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two slowing down. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken.

"Hello," Beau mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction, as color climbed up the back of his neck. His shoulders were up around his ears as he rounded the corner. The men were still chortling behind him.

He found himself surrounded by more warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks. All were padlocked for the night. He had wandered past the visitor-friendly part of Port Angeles.

The returning clouds created an early sunset and lowered the temperature. A single van passed him, and then the road was empty. The sky darkened further, and, as he looked over his shoulder at the offending cloud, he realized with a shock that two men were walking twenty feet behind him.

They were from the same group he passed earlier. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made him shiver. A memory of the locker room surfaced and his stomach twisted in knots. Beau had bulked up in the months that followed, lifting weights until he was on the brink of collapse, fearful he'd be jumped again. He started carrying pepper spray in his backpack, but it was in the kitchen at Charlie's house, not here when he really needed it.

Beau didn't have much money on him, just a twenty and some ones, and he considered giving them the entire wallet. But a familiar, frightened voice in the back of his mind warned him they might be something worse than thieves.

A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove past. He thought about jumping out in front of it, unsure if he was truly being pursued, but by then it was too late.

A series of wrong turns led him to a street lined by blank, doorless, windowless walls. He saw the intersection in the distance, breathing a sigh of relief, only to inhale sharply when he noticed the other two men from the group stood waiting.

He wasn't being followed—he was being herded.

"There you are!"

The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the quiet and made Beau jump.

"Yeah," a voice called from behind him. "We just took a little detour."

The distance between himself and the lounging pair was closing. His shoulders stiffened as their faces became clearer. Both had strange, excited expressions, as if anticipating his reaction.

"Back off," he warned. His throat was dry—no volume.

"Don't be like that, sugar," one called, inciting laughter from the others.

Beau braced himself, feet apart, his hands curling into fists. It was time. This was what he had been preparing for. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of being scared. Not again. Hot anger boiled in chest, giving him the strength he didn't know he had.

He might not get out of this alive, but Beau was going to go down swinging.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him back onto the sidewalk. The silver car fishtailed around and skidded to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet away.

"Get in," a furious voice commanded.

An intense feeling of security washed over Beau—even before he was off the street—as soon as he recognized the voice. He jumped into the seat and slammed the door. The tires squealed as they spun to face north, accelerating fast, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. The group dove for the sidewalk as the car sped away.

His face was only visible from the glow of the dashboard. "Put on your seatbelt."

Beau obeyed, watching stop signs blow by without a pause. The belt connected with a loud snap in the darkness. His hands were shaking. But he felt utterly safe, and, for the moment, totally unconcerned where they were going. He studied the ghostly face to his left and realized the expression there was murderously angry.

"Are you okay?"

"No," Edward said curtly.

Beau sat in silence until the car came to a sharp stop. They weren't in town anymore.

"Beau?"

His voice was hoarse. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Distract me, please," Edward told him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Um . . . I'm going to run over Lauren Mallory tomorrow before school?"

"Why?" His eyes were still closed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"She's telling everyone that I'm taking her to prom—either she's insane or blithely unaware of how much I hate her. So I figure if I endanger her life, Tyler can come to her rescue, then take her to the prom so I don't have to . . . " Beau babbled on.

"I heard about that."

"_You_ did? Well, maybe I'll run them both over. They can share a hospital room and live happily ever after."

Edward sighed and finally opened his eyes.

"Better?"

"Not really." Edward leaned his head back against the seat. His face was rigid.

"What's wrong?" Beau's voice came out in a whisper.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Beau," he whispered back. "But it _wouldn't_ be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those . . . at least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but he couldn't think of anything better. Silence fell again in the Volvo. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard; it was past six-thirty.

"Jessica and Angela will be worried. I was supposed to meet them."

Edward started the engine and sped back toward town. They were under the streetlights in no time at all, still too fast, weaving through the other cars with ease. He pulled up in front of La Bella Italia, where Jessica and Angela were just leaving, hurrying anxiously away from the entrance.

"How did you know where . . . " Beau began, but then shook his head. The door opened and Edward was on the other side in no time at all.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to dinner." Edward smiled, but his eyes were hard. "Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

Beau shivered at the threat in his voice.

"Jess! Angela!"

The girls rushed toward him, relief turning into surprise when they realized who was standing there.

"Where have you been?"

"I got lost," Beau said sheepishly. "And then I ran into Edward."

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" Edward asked in his silken, irresistible voice. Beau could tell from their staggered expressions that he had never unleashed his full power on them before.

"Er . . . sure," Jessica breathed.

"Um, actually, Beau, we already ate while we were waiting—sorry," Angela confessed.

"That's fine—I'm not hungry."

"I think you should eat something," Edward said in an annoying authoritative tone. "Do you mind if I drive Beau home tonight? That way you won't have to wait while he eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess . . . "

"Okay." Angela recovered quicker than Jessica. "See you tomorrow, Beau . . . Edward."

She grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her toward the Mercury, which was parked across the street. Beau stood waving until the car vanished and turned back to Edward.

"Honestly, I'm not hungry."

His expression was unreadable. "Humor me."

"Yes, Mr. Hyde," Beau muttered, resigned.

It was the off-season in Port Angeles, so they nearly had the restaurant to themselves. The woman at the hostess podium scrutinized them both with assessing eyes.

"Table for two," Edward smiled, alluring even when he wasn't trying. He shook his head at the center table and requested something more private. Beau could have sworn he saw a crisp bill exchange hands, smoothly, just like in an old gangster movie.

"How's this?"

"Perfect."

The hostess blinked. "Your server will be right out."

"You really shouldn't do that to people," Beau said as he flipped open the menu. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?"

"Dazzle them like that—she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

He seemed confused.

"Oh, come on," Beau said dubiously. "You _have_ to know the effect you have on people."

Edward tilted his head. "I dazzle people?"

"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

"Do I dazzle _you_?"

"Frequently," Beau admitted.

The server arrived, his face expectant, no doubt from the dishing the hostess provided behind the scenes. He smiled warmly at Edward.

"Hello, I'm Alex. I'll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?"

He spoke only to Edward. Edward looked at Beau, who shrugged. "I'll have a Coke."

"Two Cokes."

"I'll be right back with that," Alex assured Edward, smiling, but Edward was still watching Beau.

"What?" he asked when they were alone.

Edward continued to study him. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he replied, surprised by the intensity.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold . . . ?"

"Should I?"

"I'm waiting for you to go into shock." Edward was smiling again in that perfect crooked way.

"Oh, that," Beau mumbled, remembering the way his hands shook in the Volvo. But the tremors were gone now, dispersing in the safety of the restaurant and with this company. "I guess I've learned how to repress unpleasant things."

"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you."

Right on cue, the waiter appeared with their drinks, a basket of breadsticks, and dipping oil. "Are you ready to order?"

"Beau?" Edward asked. Alex pulled a small pad of paper from the pocket of his apron, looking disappointed.

Beau chose the first thing he saw on the specials. "I'll have the mushroom ravioli."

"And you?" Alex turned back with a smile. Edward answered without sparing him a glance.

"Nothing for me."

"Let me know if you change your mind." His coy smile was still in place, but Edward didn't meet his eyes, and he left dissatisfied.

"Drink," Edward ordered.

Beau sipped his soda obediently, then drank more deeply, surprised by his thirst. Edward swapped their glasses when his was empty.

"Thanks." The cold from the soda seemed to be radiating through his chest; he shivered.

"Are you cold?"

"It's just the Coke."

Edward looked disapproving. "Don't you have a jacket?"

"Yes." Beau looked at the empty bench next to him, but found only his Mariners cap, which he didn't remember taking off. "Oh—I left it in Jessica's car."

Edward shrugged out of his own jacket. It was light beige, leather, and worth more than a month's rent in Phoenix. Underneath he wore a snug turtleneck that emphasized his muscular chest.

He handed Beau the jacket, interrupting his ogling.

"Thanks," Beau said, sliding his arms into the sleeves. It smelled wonderful. He raised one wrist on the pretense of smoothing down the collar and sniffed the cuff. Nope. No idea what the delicious scent could be.

"That color blue looks lovely with your skin."

Beau flushed. No one had ever associated the word _lovely_ with him before.

Edward pushed the bread basket toward him expectantly.

"Really, I'm not going into shock."

"You should be—a _normal_ person would be. You don't even look shaken."

"I was, before," Beau confessed. He was mesmerized into telling the truth again. Edward's eyes were lighter than he'd ever seen them, a bright, golden butterscotch. "Maybe I still am. But I feel very safe with you."

That displeased him. "This is more complicated than I'd planned."

Beau picked up a breadstick and took a bite. He wondered when he could start his line of questioning.

"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light."

Edward was stunned. "What?"

"You're always crabby when your eyes are black—I expect it then. I have a theory about that."

"More theories? Are you making any progress with them?"

"Yup," Beau said as he swirled his bread through the dipping oil. He had come a long way from radioactive spiders and kryptonite. Edward was watching him closely.

"I hope you were more creative this time . . . or are you still stealing from comic books?"

"Well, no. I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either."

"And?"

But then the waiter came back with the food. Beau didn't realize they were leaning toward each other until both boys straightened up at his approach. Alex placed the dish on the table and turned to Edward.

"Did you change your mind? Isn't there anything I can get for you?"

"We're fine," Beau said, more rudely than he intended. Edward raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"More soda would be nice."

"Sure." Alex removed the empty glasses and walked away.

"You were saying?"

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If . . . " Beau glanced around cautiously, but the other patrons were well out of earshot.

"There are conditions?"

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course."

Alex returned with two more Cokes. He set them down without a word and disappeared. Beau took a sip, knowing he was frustrating Edward with the delay.

"Well, go ahead."

"What brings you to Port Angeles tonight?"

Edward looked down as a hint of a smirk appeared on his face. "Next."

"But that's the easiest one!"

"Next," he repeated.

It was Beau's turn to be frustrated. He unrolled the silverware, speared a ravioli, and mulled over his next question.

"Okay then. Let's say, hypothetically, that . . . someone . . . could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with a few exceptions."

"Just _one_ exception," Edward corrected. "Hypothetically."

"All right, with one exception. How does that work? What are the limitations? How would . . . that someone . . . find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know someone else was in trouble?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Sure," Beau said impatiently. He munched on another ravioli, pleased with his last minute choice.

"Well, if . . . that someone . . ."

"Let's call him 'Joe.'"

"Joe, then. If Joe had been paying attention, the timing wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." Edward rolled his eyes. "Only _you_ could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you know."

"Only if it was reported," Beau said in a cold voice. Statistics were no good if people were afraid to come forward, as he had been in Phoenix. "And we were speaking of a _hypothetical_ case."

"Yes, we were. Shall we call you 'John'?"

"_How_ did you know?"

Edward seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. Their eyes locked, and Beau guessed he was making the decision right then to tell the truth.

"You can trust me, you know," he murmured, and without thinking, reached over to touch his folded hands. Edward slid them away minutely, and Beau pulled his hand back, blushing at the misstep.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore. I was wrong—you're much more observant than I gave you credit for."

"I thought you were always right."

"I used to be." Edward shook his head again. "I was wrong about you on one other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents—that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for _trouble_. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

Beau almost laughed at his accuracy. "And you put yourself in that category?"

"Unequivocally."

Beau stretched his hand across the table again—ignoring Edward when he pulled back slightly—to touch the back of his hand shyly with his fingertips. His skin was cold and hard like a stone.

"Thank you." His voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."

Edward's face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"

Beau made a face but nodded. Edward moved his hands underneath the table, leaned toward him, and took a deep breath.

"I followed you to Port Angeles. I've never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more troublesome than I imagined. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes."

One ravioli slipped out of the clutches of his fork. "Wait, you _followed _me?"

"Well . . . "

"It's a yes or no question," Beau said in disbelief. "You either followed me or you didn't."

"Okay, then I did."

His mind tried to keep up with this new information. He struggled to think back to this afternoon; was that _his _Volvo Beau saw parked on the street? It felt like too big of a coincidence. His whole life seemed like a combination of them, a series of mishaps and mayhem that, in the past year, had turned deadly on more than one occasion. He made it out of two of these scrapes by Edward's intervention alone.

"Did you ever think that you're interfering with fate? That my number was up?"

His face was grave. "Your number was up the first time I met you."

"You're not wrong on that," Beau muttered as he pushed his plate away. "Yet here I sit . . . because of you. Because somehow you knew how to find me today."

Edward nudged his plate back to its original place. "You eat, I'll talk."

"It's harder than it should be—keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." He trailed off, silently prompting Beau to take another bite. "I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully—like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles—and I didn't notice when you took off on your own. I had no reason to be worried, but I was strangely anxious . . . I started to drive in circles, still . . . listening. The sun was setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—"

Edward stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort to calm himself.

"Then what?"

"I heard what they were thinking," he growled. "I saw your face in his mind. It was very . . . hard . . . for me to simply take you away, and leave them . . . alive."

His voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them."

Beau leaned against the booth until his eyes were fixed on the ceiling. He had not expected this at all. Rather than fear or loathing, he only felt sympathy for Edward, sympathy mixed with shame. They both quelled a violent impulse tonight. It was almost funny to picture the fight that would have broken out had Edward not driven away. Between his own rage and Edward's obvious strength, it would have taken them minutes—seconds, even—to complete the act, even when outnumbered.

He shuddered. This was the part in crime shows where the lawyers prove it was not a heat-of-passion moment. That some thought had gone into it.

"Are you ready to go home?"

Beau let his head nod down in one smooth motion. Edward, seemingly with great effort, looked up from somewhere below Beau's chin.

"I'm ready to leave."

Beau was grateful they had an hour long ride back to Forks. He wasn't ready to say goodbye yet.

Alex appeared as if summoned. Or watching. "How are we doing?"

"We're ready for the check, thank you." Edward's voice was quieter than before, rougher, reflecting from the strain of the conversation. Alex, flustered, handed him the small leather folder, which Edward returned almost immediately. A large wad of bills stuck out of the top.

"No change," Edward said dismissively. He gestured for Beau to lead the way out of the restaurant.

"I could have paid," Beau murmured, embarrassed, as they approached the car. "I was the only one eating."

"Call it payment for the pleasure of your company."

"Does that make me a prostitute?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "Just get in the car, Beau."

The Volvo pulled through traffic toward the freeway. The radio turned on with the engine, playing classical music at a low, pleasing volume. Edward turned the heater up high, and Beau was grateful, pressing his palms on the vent every minute or two to warm them. He still wore Edward's jacket, though, breathing in the scent whenever he could get away with it.

After a few minutes of silence, Edward lowered the volume, then threw him a significant glance.

"Now it's your turn."

* * *

**A/N**: Hope everyone is staying safe with the COVID-19 situation! Thanks for reading as always.


	9. Knowing

"Can I ask just one more?"

Edward sighed. "One."

"You said you saw my face . . . in that man's mind. But how did you track me down? How did you know where to find us?"

Edward looked away, deliberating. Beau realized he'd asked two questions, but it was too late to call them back. The silence went on for so long that Beau groaned aloud.

"I thought we were past all the evasiveness."

"Fine, then. I followed your scent." He looked toward the road, giving Beau time to compose his face. There wasn't an acceptable response to that, but he stashed it away in the growing vampire file for future study. Now that Pandora's box had been opened, he was desperate to keep it that way, and his questions bubbled up and over in an uncontrollable way.

"How does it work—the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family . . . ?"

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's . . . 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles."

Edward paused, thoughtful now. "It's like being in a huge hall filled with people and everyone is talking at once. It's just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear. Most of the time I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it's easier to seem . . . _normal_ . . . when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" Beau asked curiously.

"I don't know. The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM."

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" The words bothered Beau more than they should—probably because the speculation hit too close to home. He always suspected as much; it embarrassed him to have it confirmed.

Edward looked amused. "I hear voices in my mind and you're worried _you're_ the freak. Don't worry, it's just a theory . . . which brings us back to you."

Beau sighed. How to begin?

"Aren't we past all the evasions now?" Edward reminded him.

So they were. He looked away as he tried to find the words. Then he noticed the speedometer.

"Hey! Slow down!"

"What's wrong?"

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" Beau yelled. "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Relax, we're not going to crash. I always drive like this."

"Keep your eyes on the road, idiot!"

"I've never been in an accident, Beau. Never even gotten a ticket," Edward explained, tapping his own forehead. "Built-in radar detector."

"Very funny. Charlie's a cop, remember? Trust me, one more car accident and the chief is taking my license away for good, even if I'm not the one driving."

"Probably," Edward agreed with a short, hard laugh. The needle gradually drifted to eighty. "Happy?"

"Almost."

"I hate driving slow."

"_This_ is slow?"

"Enough commentary about my driving," he snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

Then his voice softened, and he added, "I won't laugh."

"I'm more afraid you'll be angry with me," Beau shrugged.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yeah."

"Go ahead," he encouraged. "Start at the beginning . . . you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

Edward looked calm, as if he already knew what Beau was going to say. _But he can't know_, Beau reminded himself. _He can't read your mind._

"No."

"What got you started—a book? A movie?"

"No, it was Saturday, at the beach. I ran into an old family friend—Jacob Black. Our parents have been friends since we were kids."

He still looked confused. Beau took a breath. "His dad is one of the Quileute elders. We went for a walk, and he was telling me some old legends. He told me one about vampires."

"And you immediately thought of me?"

"No, he . . . mentioned your family."

There was no response from Edward. He stared out at the road, still driving absurdly fast. Beau spoke, faster this time, worried about protecting Jacob.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition. He didn't expect me to think anything of it. It was my fault, I forced him to tell me."

"Why did you do that?"

"An older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation. I was curious, so I got Jacob alone, and tricked it out of him."

That caught his attention. "Tricked him how?"

"I tried to flirt—it worked better than I thought it would." Disbelief colored his tone as he recalled that strange afternoon.

"I'd like to have seen that." Edward chuckled darkly. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Jacob Black."

Beau blushed at his words. Poor Jacob Black indeed. The guilt he felt at his own scheming had not yet gone away.

"What did you do then?"

"I did some research on the Internet."

"And did that convince you?" Edward sounded barely interested. But the speedometer started to creep up again.

"No, nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then . . ."

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," Beau whispered.

"It _didn't _matter?"

It seemed he finally broke through the composed Cullen mask. Edward was incredulous—and angry.

"No. It doesn't matter to me what you are."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_!"

"No," Beau said firmly. "But you're angry, just like I thought. Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, but I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" Beau challenged him.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It didn't matter' is the issue here."

"So I'm _right_?"

"Does it _matter_?"

"Not really," Beau paused. What a relief it was to be vindicated. To know he wasn't crazy or inventing things. He made observations, created a hypothesis, and his research, both by folklore and by free search engine, had proved correct. "It doesn't matter what you are, it's who you are, and I think I'm beginning to . . . know you. And that makes me curious."

Edward opened his mouth and closed it a few times, seeming to have a hard time deciding on what to say. He cleared his throat. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"How long have you been seventeen?" Beau pressed.

"A while," Edward admitted, after a long pause.

"Okay. Don't laugh, but how can you come out during the daytime?"

Edward laughed anyway."Myth."

"Burned by the sun? Sleeping in coffins?"

"Both myths," Edward replied, hesitating. A peculiar tone entered his voice. "I can't sleep."

"At all?"

"Never," the other boy murmured. He almost looked wistful. "You haven't asked me the most important question yet."

Beau had _many_ important questions. "Which one is that?"

"Aren't you concerned about my diet?"

"Oh," he murmured. "That."

"Yes, that," Edward agreed. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

"Well, Jacob said something about that. He said you didn't . . . hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?"

"Not exactly. He said you weren't _supposed_ to be dangerous, but the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

Edward looked away. Moments passed in silence. The road was only visible in the bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the freeway was like a black wall—impenetrable, dark, and deadly. As long as they were in this car, Beau could pretend they were the only two people on the planet.

"So he was right? About not hunting people?"

"The Quileutes have a long memory," Edward said at last. "Don't let that make you complacent, though. They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?"

"A very dangerous one," Edward murmured.

The two boys fell silent. Beau knew time was passing by too quickly. He was afraid he would never have this kind of chance with Edward again, both boys disarmed, being honest with each other for once. His words had hinted at an end; Beau recoiled from the idea. He didn't want to waste another minute.

"Tell me more."

"What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," Beau suggested.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster."

"But animals aren't enough?"

"I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians. Our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather, the thirst. But it keens us strong enough to resist, most of the time. Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you to spend time with me?"

Edward sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now."

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes," Beau was confident about this detail. "I told you I had a theory. Speaking as a male, I've noticed that we get crabbier when we're hungry."

This made him chuckle. Beau spent a moment committing the laugh to memory.

"Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?"

"Yes. I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me . . . anxious . . . to be away from you," Edward said quietly. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you made it through a whole weekend unscathed. Well, not totally unscathed."

"What?"

"Your chin."

"Oh, that. Nicked myself shaving."

"That's what I thought. I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away."

Beau reddened at his words. So he wasn't the only one consumed with these thoughts all weekend. Despite the minor insults thrown in, he was pleased to hear this admission.

"Anyway," Edward continued. "It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves."

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" Beau demanded.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," he promised.

Beau felt his heart race at the thought. But he was still frustrated. "You could have called me."

The statement puzzled Edward. "But I knew you were safe."

"But _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I—"

"What?"

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious, too," Beau confessed. His cheeks felt hot again.

Edward groaned. "This is wrong."

"Wrong?" he repeated. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see, Beau? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don't want you to feel that way." His voice was low and urgent, and the words cut like a knife. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Beau—please grasp that."

"No." Beau realized he was folding his arms like a sulky child and immediately unwound them.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

"Never say that."

Beau turned to look out his own window. He was glad to know Edward couldn't read his mind—he'd never know how much that hurt. It made him feel hollow . . . and sad. It was as if every word and gesture, all the subtext between them really meant . . . nothing. He did what one was supposed to do with someone they liked—be vulnerable. And Beau didn't make a habit of being vulnerable with anyone.

"What are you thinking? Are you crying?"

"No," Beau snapped. A total lie. He swiped at his eyes to hide the evidence. He saw Edward's right hand move toward him, hesitate, then drift back to the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry." The apology was for more than just his words.

The darkness slipped by in silence. The speedometer hovered at ninety, as if torn between the two of them.

"Tell me something."

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look that scared. You looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was planning my next move," Beau explained, thinking back to that swell of rage in his chest before the Volvo appeared. He recalled the dark-haired man with a fresh surge of hatred.

"You were going to fight them?" This seemed to upset Edward. "Didn't you think about running?"

He shrugged. "Of course I did. Fight or flight. I chose to fight."

"What about screaming for help?"

"No one comes when you do . . . well, except you."

Edward stared at him for so long he got fidgety. "What?"

"You were right—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

The car slowed as they passed into Forks. The journey felt like it took forever, but it had really only been twenty minutes.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Edward smiled, friendly again. "I have a paper due, too."

It was silly, after everything they'd been through tonight, how these words sent flutters through his stomach. Beau found himself unable to speak.

The Volvo came to a stop outside Charlie's house. The lights were on, Big Red sitting in the driveway, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. Edward stopped the car, but Beau didn't move.

"Do you _promise_ to be there tomorrow?"

"I promise."

Beau considered that for a moment, weighing his words, then nodded. He moved to return the jacket, but Edward shook his head.

"Keep it—you don't have a jacket for tomorrow."

Beau handed it back anyway. "I think Charlie will notice if I walk in wearing something worth more than my truck."

"Oh right. Well, a lot of things are worth more than that hunk of junk."

"Hey. Leave Big Red alone."

"Beau?" Edward asked. "Will you do something for me?"

"Yes?" Beau almost kicked himself for sounding too eager. He would do anything for him. Instantly Beau regretted his unconditional agreement. What if Edward asked him to stay away? He knew he couldn't keep that promise.

"Don't go into the woods alone."

"Why?"

Edward frowned. "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's leave it at that."

It was an easy vow to uphold. "Whatever you say. Can you promise me something in return?"

Edward thought for a minute, then nodded. Beau, seeing that his hand had dropped to the center console, laid his own over Edward's cool one.

"Look, I don't know what you go through every day, but I do know what it feels like to be an outsider. I'm just saying . . . you don't have to feel that way anymore. Promise me . . . promise that you won't shut me out."

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Edward nodded again. The two stared at each other until Beau withdrew his hand, reluctantly breaking the spell. "I'll see you tomorrow, Edward. Save me a seat at lunch?"

"Tomorrow, then."

Beau opened the door, ducking his head to climb out of the car, but a chilly hand on his arm stopped him. He turned and found Edward leaning toward him, his glorious face only inches away. Beau felt his heartbeat stutter in response.

"Sleep well."

These words cast a foggy haze over him. Beau stumbled out of the car toward the front door, dazed. A quiet chuckle followed him out of the Volvo. The engine revved as he made his way up the walk. Cold again, he reached for his keys, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside.

"Beau?"

"Hey, Dad," he called, attempting to step out of his boots. He could barely unlace them; his fingers weren't cooperating.

"You're home early."

"Am I?"

"It's not even eight yet," Charlie said, poking his head into the entryway. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah—it was lots of fun." His head spun as he tried to remember how the evening started. "They both found dresses."

Concern crossed his face as he watched Beau struggle with the shoelaces. "Are you all right?"

"I'm just tired. I did a lot of walking."

"Well, maybe you should go lie down."

"I'm just going to call Jessica first."

"Weren't you just with her?" Charlie asked.

"Yes—but I left my jacket in her car. I just want to make sure she brings it tomorrow."

"Well, give her a chance to get home first. She's a nice girl, huh?"

"She is," Beau agreed when he finally succeeded with his laces. Charlie returned to the living room, noticeably perturbed.

Beau went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. The highs and lows of the night must have been taking their toll. He listened to the _click-click-click_ of his father flipping through the channels and fought back a sudden rise of tears. If Edward hadn't saved him, Charlie might still be watching television, eyes flickering to the clock every few minutes. His absence wouldn't cause immediate alarm, at least not until ten or eleven o'clock. Renée was lax about curfews, but Beau suspected Charlie was strict as a small-town dad could be, and would have leapt into action when he didn't hear from him.

The phone rang. Beau jumped up, grateful for the interruption, and yanked it off the hook.

"Hello?"

"Beau?"

"Hey, Jess, I was just about to call you."

"You made it home?"

_Well, duh_, he wanted to say. "Yes, but I left my jacket in your car—could you bring it tomorrow?"

Jessica could barely get the words out. "Sure, but tell me what happened!"

"Um, tomorrow—in Trig, okay?"

She caught on quickly. "Oh, is your dad there?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Bye!" He could hear the impatience in her voice.

"Bye, Jess."

Beau walked up the stairs slowly as a heavy stupor clouded his mind. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying attention. It wasn't until he was in the shower—the water too hot, burning his skin—that he realized he was freezing. He shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could relax his rigid muscles.

Later, when he was curled up into a ball under the quilt, still shivering, his mind whirled at full speed. Images flashed behind his eyelids and made him restless. Nothing seemed clear it first, but as Beau fell closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

About three things he was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a small part of him—and Beau didn't know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for his blood. And third, he was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

* * *

**A/N**: My thoughts are a mess these days. Our doctors, nurses, grocery store employees, teachers, truckers . . . they are the backbone of our society. My sincerest thanks to them and their hard work.

As for me, writing is an escape from these troubled times. I have a few oneshots cooking in addition to further chapters of _The Blue Hour_. Hoping to post those soon.

Stay safe all, and thanks for reading.


	10. Interrogations

Morning found Beau in bed arguing with himself. He kept debating if the previous evening had been a dream. Logic, truthfully, was not on his side. Beau had an overactive imagination, so he clung to the parts he couldn't have imagined, like Edward's scent. That was something he didn't dream up on his own.

The thought of the previous evening only made him greedy for more. Life has he knew it would never be the same again. A shadow world existed now, just a few steps beyond the confines of the ordinary one. Creatures that went bump in the night also paid for mushroom ravioli. It was unbelievable, and yet, it was all true.

The thick fog sticking to the window excited Beau. There was no reason for Edward not to be in school.

Charlie was gone when he went downstairs—that meant Beau was running behind today. He ate his breakfast standing up to save time and hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until he could find Jessica. He'd worn extra layers to compensate for the lack of jacket—further proof that his memory was still reliable.

The cold mist clung to his face and neck. He imagined a Victorian England in a fog like this, engulfed by it, the kind that cloaked Dracula's arrival by the _Demeter_. And just like in the story, this fog also obscured something crucial: a silver car.

Beau felt his heartbeat pick up double time. It was the Volvo.

He didn't see where he came from, but suddenly Edward was there, holding the passenger door open.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" he asked, looking amused. Clearly he enjoyed taking him by surprise. But there was uncertainty in his voice. Edward was really giving Beau the choice—he was free to refuse, and a part of him hoped for that. It was a vain hope.

"Yes, thank you," Beau said, trying to keep his voice level. He slid into the passenger seat and eyed the tan jacket that was slung over the headrest. The door closed behind him, and sooner than should be possible, Edward was behind the wheel and starting the engine.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Edward was guarded, and wore no jacket himself, just a knit V-neck with long sleeves. It was a colossal tribute to his face that kept Beau's eyes away from his body.

"Thanks. Are you sure this is okay?" Beau asked as he slid his arms through the sleeves. "It's not too out of your way?"

"Not the way I drive," Edward promised. Beau couldn't help but agree with that.

The Volvo drove through the foggy streets, always too fast, and full of awkwardness. Almost all the walls had come down last night; Beau wasn't sure if they were still being as candid today. He also wasn't sure what would happen when they arrived at school. It left him anxious and quiet. Beau watched Edward out of the corner of his eye as he decided on what to say. But nothing came to mind.

Finally, Edward broke the silence, smirking as he did so. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?"

"Not as much as your reactions do."

Beau frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly—it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking." It was almost the truth.

"You edit," Edward said accusingly.

"Not very much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"You don't want to hear it," Beau mumbled. He regretted the words at once. The pain in his voice was very faint; he hoped Edward hadn't noticed it. "Where's the rest of your family?"

"They took Rosalie's car," Edward said as they parked next to a glossy red convertible. "Ostentatious, isn't it?"

"Wow. If she has _that_, why does she ride with you?"

"Like I said, it's ostentatious. We _try_ to blend in."

"You don't succeed," Beau told him as they got out of the car. He glanced at his watch; he wasn't late anymore. Edward's insane driving had gotten them both to school with plenty of time to spare. "So why did Rosalie drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

"Haven't you noticed? I'm breaking _all_ the rules now." Edward joined him at the front of the car and stayed close to his side as they walked onto campus. Beau wanted to close that distance, to reach out and touch him, but he was terribly afraid of being rejected. He held onto the straps of his backpack instead.

"Why do you have cars like that at all? If you're looking for privacy?"

"An indulgence," Edward admitted with an impish smile. "We all like to drive fast."

"Figures." But he was intrigued by this new detail in the mystery of the Cullen clan.

Jessica stood waiting next to the cafeteria. Her eyes were huge as she took in the sight of the two boys approaching. Beau's jacket slung over her arm.

"Hey, Jessica, thanks for bringing that."

"Good morning, Jessica," Edward said politely.

"Er . . . hi." Her eyes shifted to Beau as she attempted to gather her jumbled thoughts. "I guess I'll see you in Trig."

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

Jessica shot him a meaningful look as she walked away. Beau sighed. He had no idea what he should say to her. It hadn't dawned on him when he woke up this morning that today was the day he would come out to all of Forks High School, and apparently, bring Edward along for the ride. He still hadn't come to terms with _that_ yet.

"What are you going to tell her?"

"Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!"

"I can't," Edward said, startled. Then understanding brightened his eyes. "However, I can read hers—she'll be waiting to ambush you in class."

Beau groaned as he switched jackets. It was just as he feared.

"So what are you going to tell her?"

"A little help?" Beau pleaded. "What does she want to know?"

Edward grinned wickedly. "That's not fair."

"No, you not sharing what you know—now _that's_ not fair."

He seemed to be strategizing as they walked. They stopped outside the door to Beau's first class.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," Edward finally said.

"Yikes." Beau tried to keep his expression innocent. "What should I say?"

People were passing them on the way to class, probably staring, but he was barely aware of them. It took all of his energy to look Edward in the eye. He felt like he was perched on the edge of a cliff and trying not to fall. Everything depended on what came next.

"Hmm," Edward said thoughtfully. He lifted a hand to remove the Mariners cap and smoothed the hair into place, exactly the way Beau liked it. "I suppose you could say yes to the first . . . if you don't mind—it's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind." His voice was quavering.

"And as for her other question . . . well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." One side of his mouth pulled up into _that_ uneven smile. Beau couldn't catch his breath fast enough to respond.

"I'll see you at lunch."

He watched Edward walk away, cap in hand, dumbfounded by this recent turn of events. Three people walking in the door stopped to gawk at him.

Beau hurried into class, flushed and irritated. Mind reading was cheating. Now he was even _more_ worried about what he was going to say to Jessica. He felt naked without the Mariners cap and he suspected that was the point. Edward took away the one thing that made him feel like an insider. He was laying down the gauntlet. Well. Beau . . . also . . . had to lay down the gauntlet.

"Morning," Mike greeted him. "How was Port Angeles?"

Beau stiffened at the fake curious tone. Rumors were no doubt already swirling. But being seen with Edward effectively took Jessica off his hands, so he could afford to be nice to Mike. He might serve as an asset to Beau later on.

"It was great. You'll like the dress Jessica chose."

"Did she say anything about Monday night?"

"She said she had a really good time," Beau assured him. This might be easier than he thought.

"She did?"

"Most definitely."

The morning passed in a blur while Beau worried about how to explain things to Jessica. He agonized over whether Edward would really be listening to their conversation. How very inconvenient his little talent could be—when he wasn't playing Clark Kent.

Edward was right, of course. When he walked into Trig, Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. He reluctantly went to sit with her, trying to convince himself it would be better to get this over with as soon as possible. The information should come from him directly; he shuddered at the thought of Jessica Stanley filling in the blanks for everyone else.

"Tell me everything!"

"What do you want to know?" Beau hedged. Though he expected this questioning, he wasn't the only one who would be affected by it. Edward had secrets—more than even Beau—and yet, he seemed unconcerned with petty teenager gossip. To a supernatural being, it was probably no more irksome than a buzzing fly, but to Beau . . . it could shape the rest of his high school experience.

"What happened last night?"

"We had dinner and then he drove me home."

Jessica glared at him. "How did you get home so fast?"

"He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." Beau hoped he heard that.

"Was it like a date—did you tell him to meet you there?"

"No," Beau shrugged, wondering how exactly he was supposed to accompany the girls to the store and see Edward, all in one evening, without them knowing. That plan required more stealth than even he was capable of. "I was very surprised to see him there."

"But he picked you up for school today?" she probed.

"Yes—that was a surprise, too. He noticed I didn't have a jacket last night."

"So are you going out again?"

Beau hesitated. "He offered to drive me to Seattle on Saturday because he thinks Big Red isn't up to it—does that count?"

"Yes," Jessica nodded.

"Well, then, yes."

"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Edward Cullen."

"I know," Beau agreed. _Wow_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Jessica laid her hand on his and stroked it. "Well, I am really happy for you. Even though you've been lying to me this whole time. Why didn't you say anything? Coming out is hard, but I could have been there for you."

Beau let her see some crocodile tears forming in his eyes. "You're right, Jess. It _is_ hard. I guess I was afraid you'd hate me or something."

"Absolutely not! Look, I admit, I was attracted to you. But now I know! It's perfect! You're my gay best friend, just like Will and Grace! Or even Stanford and Carrie!"

Beau struggled to keep a neutral expression on his face. Somehow, in her vapid way, Jessica was being sincere. He had no interest in being a straight girl's accessory, but now that she could see nothing would happen between them, he thought she might have the ability to be his friend. He flipped her hand so their fingers interlocked and she giggled.

"Wait a minute. Has he kissed you?"

"No," he mumbled, deflated. "It's not like that."

Jessica looked as disappointed as he did. She was handling the news that both of her crushes were gay with remarkable grace. "Do you think Saturday . . . ?"

"I really doubt it."

Mr. Varner cleared his throat from the front of the room. Jessica waited until his eyes were on the board before turning back to Beau. "What did you guys talk about?"

"I don't know, Jess, lots of stuff," Beau whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little."

"Please, Beau," Jessica begged. "Give me some details."

"Well . . . okay. I've got one. Our waiter was all over him—it was really over the top. But . . . he didn't pay attention to him at all." Let him make what he could of that.

"That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was he good-looking?"

"Yeah, and older than us, probably nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. He must like you."

"I _think_ so, but it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic," Beau threw in for his benefit, sighing.

"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's so . . . intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him." Jessica made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when he turned the overwhelming force of his eyes on her.

"I do have some incoherency issues when I'm around him," Beau admitted.

"Oh well. He _is_ unbelievably gorgeous." Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.

"There's a lot more to him than that."

"Really? Like what?"

Beau wished he had let it go. Today was fraught enough, having to come out while completely unprepared for it. Now he had to worry about Edward listening at this exact moment.

"I can't explain it right . . . but he's even more unbelievable _behind_ the face." The vampire who wanted to be good—who ran around saving people's lives so he wouldn't be a monster. He was a total contradiction. Definitely more than a pretty face.

"Is that possible?" Jessica was giggling again.

Beau ignored her, trying to look like he was paying attention to Mr. Varner's lecture.

"So you like him, then?" She wasn't about to give up—his friend or not, this was the gossip of the year.

"Yes," He said curtly.

"I mean do you _really_ like him?"

"Yes," Beau repeated as his face reddened. He hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.

"How _much_ do you like him?"

"Too much." Beau told her. "More than he likes me. But I don't see how I can help that."

Thankfully Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer. She didn't get a chance to bring up the subject again, and as soon as the bell rang, Beau took evasive action.

"In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night."

"You're kidding! What did you say?" Jessica gasped. His plan worked; she was completely sidetracked. Only her own romantic life superseded his own.

"I told him you said you had a lot of fun—he looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"

They spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Mike's facial expressions. One part of him loathed filling this role for her, but he thought it might be politically expedient to be friends with Jessica during this weird time, knowing she had social clout. The other part of him was eager to keep the discussion from swinging back in his direction.

Then the bell rang for lunch. Beau jumped out of his seat, shoving books roughly in his backpack, reaching for his baseball cap until he remembered Edward took it away before class. Jessica was studying him carefully.

"You're not sitting with us today, are you?"

"I don't think so."

Outside the door to Spanish class, leaning against the wall—looking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right to—Edward was waiting for him.

"See you later, Beau." Jessica winked. Maybe it was better he didn't sit at their table today; she would be too busy relaying the gay good news to the group.

"Hello." Edward looked amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, that much was obvious.

"Hi."

Beau couldn't think of anything else to say, and Edward didn't speak—biding his time, probably—so it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like his first day here; everyone stared.

Edward led the way into the lunch line, still not speaking, though his eyes flickered in his direction every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed the irritation was winning over amusement as time wore on. Beau fidgeted nervously with the zipper on his jacket. Though he had two inches of height on Edward, he couldn't have felt smaller.

"What are you doing?" Beau asked, watching the other boy fill a tray with food. "You're not getting all of that for me?"

"It's your usual portion, and the other half is for me."

He led the way to the same table they sat at last time. A group of seniors watched them take their seats, amazed. Edward seemed oblivious to the attention and placed the tray in front of Beau.

"Take whatever you want."

Beau picked up an apple. "I'm curious: what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious." Edward grimaced. He glared at Beau, lifted a slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful. He chewed quickly and swallowed. Beau watched with wide eyes.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?"

Beau made a face. "I did once . . . on a dare. It wasn't so bad."

"I suppose I'm not surprised," Edward laughed. Then his eyes flashed to something across the cafeteria.

"Jessica's analyzing everything I do—she'll break it down for you later." He pushed the rest of the pizza toward Beau. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features.

Beau switched from the apple to the pizza, eyes on his food, knowing Edward was about to start.

"So the waiter was good-looking last night."

"You really didn't notice?"

"No, I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."

Beau made a sympathetic face. "Poor kid."

"Something you said to Jessica . . . well, it bothers me." His voice dropped lower and lower.

"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers."

"I warned you I would be listening," Edward reminded him.

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," Edward agreed, but his voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking—everything. I just wish . . . that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

Beau scowled. "That's quite a distinction."

"But that's not really the point."

"Then what is?" They were inclined toward each other across the table now. Beau had to remind himself that they were in a crowded cafeteria with, no doubt, many curious eyes on them. It was too easy to get wrapped up in their private, tense little bubble.

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" Edward murmured, leaning closer as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.

"You're doing it again," Beau muttered.

"What?"

"Dazzling me," Beau admitted, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"Oh."

"It's not your fault. You can't help it."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

Beau looked down, pulling his lip between his teeth. "Yes."

"Yes, you're going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" Edward was irritated again.

"Yes, I really think that." Beau kept his eyes on the table. The silence dragged on. He refused to be the first to talk, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at Edward's expression.

"You're wrong."

Beau glanced up at last to see his eyes were gentle.

"You can't know that." He wanted so badly to believe him, heart throbbing at the words, but he just couldn't.

"What makes you think so?"

Beau stared as he struggled to explain himself. Edward wasn't blinking, which was both weirding him out and making it difficult to concentrate. He held up one finger to stave off the impatient scowl. "Let me think."

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else."

It was the best he could do to sum up the anguish Edward triggered in him.

"Perceptive," Edward whispered. "That's exactly why you're wrong though. And what did you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look at me. I'm just an ordinary guy. Well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and a pathological need to fit in. And look at you." He waved his hand toward Edward and all his bewildering perfection.

A flash of anger crossed Edward's expression, then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things, but you didn't hear what every human in this school was thinking on your first day."

Beau blinked in astonishment. "I don't believe it . . . "

"Trust me just this once—you are the opposite of ordinary."

His embarrassment was much stronger than the pleasure at the look in Edward's eyes as he spoke. However, Beau was quick to return to his original argument.

"But I'm not saying goodbye."

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it"—he shook his head, seeming to struggle with the thought—"if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

"And you don't think I would do the same?"

"You'd never have to make that choice."

Abruptly his unpredictable mood shifted again. A mischievous, devastating smile appeared on his face. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

"No one has tried to do away with me today." Beau was grateful for the lighter subject. He didn't want to talk about goodbyes anymore.

"Yet."

"Yet," Beau agreed. He still had to get through Gym, and with the news spreading this fast, a knot of anxiety was forming in his chest.

"I have another question for you," Edward said casually.

"Shoot."

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to avoid saying no to all your admirers?"

Beau glowered. "Admirers?"

"The great many that you have," Edward chuckled. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned _me_ down?"

"Probably not," Beau confessed. "But I would have canceled later—faked an illness or a sprained ankle."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm not a dancer."

"That's not a problem." He was very confident. "It's all in the leading. But you didn't answer my question—are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

As long as the "we" part was in, Beau didn't care about anything else.

"I'm open to alternatives, but I have one favor to ask—can I drive?"

"Why?"

"I already told Charlie I was going to Seattle. Also, your driving scares me."

He rolled his eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, it's my driving that you choose to worry about."

Beau grinned. "You'll really like Big Red."

"Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?"

"Less is always more with Charlie. Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye . . . and you can stay with me, if you'd like to."

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" Beau asked, excited by the idea of unraveling another one of the unknowns.

"Yes," Edward smiled. "But if you don't want to be . . . alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

Beau was offended. "Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle. I'm more than capable—"

"But apparently," Edward went on as if he hadn't spoken, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me."

Beau felt his heart sink at that line of thought, but he shook it off. "As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I know. You should tell Charlie, though."

"Why would I do that?"

Edward suddenly looked fierce. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back."

Beau gulped. But, after a moment of thought, he was sure. "I think I'll take my chances."

Edward exhaled angrily and looked away. Beau cleared his throat.

"Let's talk about something else."

"Okay, let's talk about your old school in Phoenix."

"I don't think so," Beau said sharply. He looked around to make sure they were out of earshot. As he cast his gaze around the room, he caught the eyes of Alice Cullen, staring at him. The others were looking at Edward. He looked away swiftly, back to Edward, and asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Why were you hunting in Goat Rocks last weekend? Charlie said there are a lot of bears in the area."

Edward stared at him as if he was missing something very obvious.

"Bears?" he gasped, and Edward smirked. "You know . . . bears are not in season."

"If you read carefully, the laws only cover hunting with weapons."

He watched Beau digest this information with a smile playing on his lips. Beau heard himself stammering.

"_Bears?_"

"Grizzly is Emmett's favorite."

"Hmm," Beau said, reaching for the pizza for an excuse to look away. "So, uh, what's your favorite? Mountain goat?"

Edward raised an eyebrow in disapproval. "Mountain lion."

"Ah," Beau said politely. He sipped his soda and tried to look indifferent to this information.

"Of course, we have to be careful not to impact the environment with injudicious hunting. We try to focus on areas with an overpopulation of predators—ranging as far away as we need. There's always plenty of deer and elk here, and they'll do, but where's the fun in that?"

"Where indeed," Beau nodded agreeably. Edward kept talking in an obvious attempt to make him uncomfortable. Beau felt his hand reaching for the brim of the hat and dropped it, realizing again it was not on his head.

"Early spring is Emmett's favorite bear season—they're just coming out of hibernation, so they're more irritable."

"Nothing more fun than an irritated grizzly bear."

Edward snickered. "Tell me what you're really thinking, please."

"I'm trying to picture it—but I can't. How do you hunt a bear without weapons?"

"Oh, we have weapons." He flashed his bright teeth in a brief, threatening smile. Beau fought back a shiver before it could expose him. "Just not the kind they consider when writing hunting laws. If you've ever seen a bear attack on television, you should be able to visualize Emmett hunting."

A fresh shiver went down his spine. Beau glanced across the cafeteria at Emmett. The thick bands of muscle that wrapped his arms and torso were somehow even more menacing now. He made the weight room guys back in Phoenix look puny.

"Are you like a bear, too?"

"More like the lion, or so they tell me. Perhaps our preferences are indicative."

He couldn't reconcile the image of Edward tousling with a mountain lion in a sweater that cost over a hundred dollars at the mall. "Perhaps. Is that something I might get to see?"

"Absolutely not!" His face was white now, eyes furious. Beau leaned back, stunned and—though he would never admit to him—frightened by his reaction.

"Too scary for me?"

"If that were it, I would take you out tonight," Edward said, his voice cutting. "You _need_ a healthy dose of fear. Nothing could be more beneficial for you."

"Then why?"

"Later," Edward rose to his feet. "We're going to be late."

He was right; the cafeteria was nearly empty. Time became muddled when they spent time together. Beau jumped up, grabbing his bag from the back of the chair.

"Later, then." Beau agreed. He wouldn't forget.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you to Rita01tx - totally forgot to give major props to our intrepid garbagemen who work tirelessly with or without a pandemic.

Next week: Gym class and a long overdue conversation about Phoenix.

Thank you for your reviews. They keep me going in this sad time. Stay safe all!


	11. Complications

Everyone watched the boys as they walked to their lab table. Edward no longer angled the chair away. Instead, he sat quite close to Beau, their shoulders almost touching.

Mr. Banner arrived wheeling a clunky television and VCR into the room. A movie day—the lift in the class atmosphere was almost tangible. Spring break was coming up and clearly the students weren't the only ones counting down the days.

Then, as soon as the room darkened, Beau was suddenly aware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from him. He was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed between them. He swore he could almost hear the air crackling with heat as a crazy impulse to touch Edward nearly overwhelmed him. Beau crossed his arms tightly across his chest to stifle this impulse. He was damned-near losing his mind.

The opening credits began and lit the room by a fraction. Beau started to smile sheepishly when he realized that Edward sat in an identical manner, fists clenched under the arms, sneaking a sideways glance in his direction. They grinned at each other and looked away.

The hour dragged on and on. He expected the electric current to slacken, to get just a moment of relief, but it never happened. The overpowering craving to touch him also refused to go away. His fingers ached with the effort of resisting. He wondered if this was how Edward felt all the time, being so tempted by blood. It must have been agonizing; Beau could barely make it through a class period.

"Well, that was interesting," Edward murmured after the bell rang.

"Umm," was all he could manage to reply. Beau took some comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one struggling.

The two paused at the gymnasium door to say goodbye. Edward's face was startling—he looked torn, almost pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him was nearly too much. Their farewell, if only for an hour, seemed like an impossible undertaking.

Edward raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes. Then he brushed the length of Beau's cheekbone with his fingertips. Edward's touch was icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left was alarmingly warm—like Beau had been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it yet. Then Edward turned away without a word. Beau backed into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly, drifting into the locker room as if in a trance.

Reality didn't fully set in until Coach Clapp marched the class to the corner where a handful of blue floor mats waited.

An audible hush fell over the students when he pointed up in the air. Four ropes were dangling from the rafters. Each rope was thick, knotted, and crowned with a bell at the top. Someone in the back of the group whimpered. Coach Clapp flashed them all a broad smile, clearly enjoying their discomfort.

"Rope climbing is a test of mental and physical strength," he boomed. "It is not for the faint of heart. Unfortunately for some of you, the rope is also a requirement for this term. Now line up, we don't have a lot of time—you don't have to ask me to go to the bathroom, Yorkie."

"No, Coach Clapp, it's not that. I have asthma, so I don't think I can—"

"No excuses in my gym, Yorkie. Just don't hold your breath. You're spotting first."

Beau sighed when he and Mike were picked to start the exercise. The two shared an uneasy glance before reaching for their ropes. Lee and Eric stood as their spotters on the floor. Beau prayed Eric's asthma attack would hold off until he was safely on the ground again.

"So," Mike said as they inched up the rope. Below, the class grew smaller and smaller, as Lee and Eric held steady, for now.

"So what?"

"You . . . and . . . Cullen, huh?"

"That's none of your business, Mike," Beau huffed as his patience from the morning disappeared.

Mike's face was almost purple as he struggled with his grip. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to."

"Hurry up, boys!" Coach Clapp shouted from the ground. "Time's ticking!"

Beau felt his whole body straining with the effort. The bell was an arm's length away, but he paid no attention to it, the anger bubbling in his chest.

"What's it to you, anyway? You got what you wanted. You have Jessica and now you're the big man on campus again."

"That's not what I want," Mike gasped, one arm reaching in desperation, but he was still a few inches short of his bell. Beau watched him struggle for a moment longer before ringing the bell above his own head. Clapp whooped and led a round of applause from the gym floor. In spite of himself, Beau grinned.

Mike scowled and began to shimmy down the rope so fast that Beau could barely keep up.

"What's your problem, then?"

"You think I want to be the second choice? The _default_ big man?"

"Mike—"

"First, you come here and steal my spot on the baseball team, but you don't want it. Then, when Jessica drapes herself all over you, you're not interested. Now you're dating Cullen, and you're _still_ Superman! You can't even let me win in Gym!"

"Guys," Eric wheezed. "Can you pick up the pace—"

"Shut up," Mike snapped, then jumped the last five feet onto the mats. He stumbled, lost his balance, and slammed into Eric, who pulled the rope taut on his way down to the floor. Beau yelped as the rope slashed his palms, and unable to hold on any longer, fell onto the mats in a heap with the other boys. Lee, for no other reason than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, fainted.

"Damn it," Coach Clapp groaned. "Newton, get up. Take Yorkie to the nurse before he asphyxiates to death."

"What about Lee, sir?"

"Crowley, get Stephens. I don't want another note from his mother about my methods. Swan, a word. Everyone else, take a lap!"

The rest of the class scurried away at his threatening tone. Beau stepped back to make room for a laboring Eric, a glaring Mike, an unconscious Lee, and a smirking Tyler.

"What's wrong, Beau? Lovers' quarrel?"

"Keep moving, Crowley," Coach Clapp barked. He waited until the four were out of earshot before turning back to Beau. His tone was surprisingly kind. "Are you okay, son?"

"My hands are fine, sir," Beau muttered. "I've had worse."

"I wasn't talking about your hands."

"I'm fine, sir. Really."

Beau stared at his shoes, the floor, anything to avoid looking into the eyes of a concerned authority figure. The silence wore on until Coach Clapp's voice returned to its usual gruffness.

"Hit the showers, Swan. You're done for the day."

Beau showered quickly and spent the rest of class glowering at the ropes. The exercise was completely barbaric. Wasn't the school afraid of being sued?

What made Lee Stephens faint all the time, anyway?

Did Beau have to baby his straight sort-of-friends every time he did something for himself? Was that the price of being part of this crowd?

Then his thoughts took a different turn: would Edward be waiting for him, or should he go straight to the Volvo? Would the other Cullens be there? Did they know that he was in on their secret?

He jumped up at the sound of the final bell and hurried out of the gymnasium. There stood the answer to one of his questions. Edward was waiting for him outside of the building, his expression untroubled. As Beau walked to his side, he felt a peculiar sense of release. Like everything from the past hour was unimportant.

"Hi."

"Hello." The answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"

"Fine," Beau lied. He thought that word might start to lose its meaning for him.

"Really?" Edward was unconvinced. His amber eyes shifted their focus, narrowing, and focused on the doors over Beau's shoulders.

"What?"

"Newton's getting on my nerves."

Beau groaned and turned for the parking lot. "Are you listening again?"

Edward's smile broadened as they walked. "You seem to enjoy Gym class, so my curiosity got the better of me. I thought you looked very masterful climbing that rope. Well, until you fell on Eric Yorkie."

"I'm sure that made you jealous," he said sarcastically. "Me falling into a big pile of guys."

"Of course it did," Edward offered. "You can fall into my arms anytime."

Beau blushed furiously in response. They walked in silence—a mortified silence on his part—to the car. A small crowd of boys awaited them near the Volvo, and Beau felt his shoulders tense. But it was clear this group only had eyes for Rosalie's red convertible. Every one of them gazed at the car with lust, no doubt picturing themselves driving it, accompanied by the beautiful owner. It was clearly the Forks High fantasy of the decade.

"What kind of car is that, anyway?"

"Ostentatious is what it is," Edward muttered. "It's a BMW."

Soon they were out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Beau let his shoulders relax and noticed the Mariners cap in the backseat. A smile graced Edward's face as Beau plopped it over the bright bronze hair.

"I like this on you."

Edward tilted his head so the cap fell onto the passenger side of the car. "I'm a White Sox fan."

Beau scoffed. "Uh-huh. So, is it later yet?"

"I suppose it is later."

Edward stopped the car; they were already outside Charlie's house. He was solemn, but a hint of humor lingered in his eyes. "You still want to know why you can't see me hunt?"

"I was mostly concerned about your reaction."

"Did I frighten you?" The thought entertained him. Beau shook his head.

"No."

"I apologize for scaring you. It was just the thought of you being there . . . while we hunted . . ." His perfect jaw tightened.

"That would be bad?"

"Extremely."

"Because . . . ?"

"When we hunt, we give ourselves over to our senses . . . govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way . . ." Edward trailed off and gazed through the windshield at the gathering clouds.

Beau kept his expression under control; his face gave nothing away as Edward turned back to study him. But as their eyes held, the silenced deepened, and changed. Flickers of the afternoon's electricity made themselves known; the interior of the car seemed to be humming with them. Beau drew a jagged breath, breaking the stillness, and Edward closed his eyes.

"Beau, I think you should go inside now."

The whir of the automatic window rolling down made him turn back. "Oh, Beau?"

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow it's my turn."

"Your turn to what?"

Edward smiled wider to expose his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."

That night Edward starred in his dreams as usual. Beau tossed and turned, restless, and woke up often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that he finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Beau found himself emulating Edward's fashion sense the next morning as he pulled on a brown turtleneck. He was quiet over his cereal, considering the coming day, when Charlie interrupted his musings.

"Are you still going to Seattle this Saturday?"

"That was the plan."

"Be careful, okay?" Charlie was unusually stern. "I heard buzz about some missing college students. Probably nothing, but keep your wits about you, all right?"

Beau saluted him. "Yes, Chief Dad."

"And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Dad."

"Didn't anyone ask you?" Charlie asked as he brought his plate up to sink.

"It's a girl's choice."

"Oh."

Beau wondered if the whispers reached him yet. If they had, he didn't say anything.; it wasn't Charlie's way to pry.

He had to tell him.

It was now or never.

The words were on his lips, but before he could speak, Charlie was reaching for his jacket and waving goodbye. Beau watched him go and tried to imagine how a conversation of this magnitude would play out.

He'd be supportive, Beau decided. Definitely. Perhaps a little hurt it took him so long to say so, but one couldn't rush these things. They were just getting to know each other again. That kind of trust took time; he was still trying to wrap his mind around the previous day at school.

The silver car was already waiting in the driveway. Beau didn't know how long this bizarre routine would continue. He never wanted it to end.

He locked the front door and bounded down the steps, hesitating only for a moment before sliding into the passenger side. Edward was smiling, relaxed, and irritatingly coiffed this early in the day.

"Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?"

"Good, thank you." Beau was always good—much more than good—when he was near him.

His eyes lingered on the dark circles under Beau's. "You look tired."

"Couldn't sleep," Beau confessed. He tugged the brim of the Mariners cap to provide some measure of cover.

"Neither could I," Edward said in a teasing voice. He started the engine, and it was so quiet, the sound made Beau compare it to the roar of Big Red. It might scare him the next time he drove the truck.

"I guess that's right. I'd wager I slept just a little bit more than you did."

"I'd wager that you did."

"So what did you do last night?" Beau asked. A great many hours passed in the world while humans slept. It seemed like a lot of time to fill.

Edward chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask the questions."

"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?"

"What's your favorite color?"

Beau rolled his eyes. A four-seam fastball question. Easy. "It changes from day to day."

"What's your favorite color today?"

"Probably brown," Beau answered, pulling at his sleeve. It would be too embarrassing to say gold—the color of Edward's eyes today.

"Brown?"

"Sure. Brown is warm. I _miss_ brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here."

Edward seemed fascinated by the rant. He considered it for a moment, then reached across the car, his hand waiting expectantly. Beau passed over the Mariners cap in silence. Edward balanced it on his right thigh as he drove, and, after a moment's hesitation, smoothed Beau's hair back the way he liked.

"You're right," he concluded. "Brown is warm."

The Volvo pulled into its usual parking space. "What's in your CD player right now?"

"_Absolution_," Beau said. He was still warm from Edward's hand in his hair. "Muse."

That made him laugh. Edward flipped open the glove compartment and passed him the same CD.

It continued like that for the rest of the day. While Edward walked him from class to class, he was relentless in his questioning, determined to ascertain every insignificant detail of Beau's existence. Movies he liked and hated, the few places he'd been and the many places he wanted to go, and books—endlessly books.

Beau couldn't remember the last time he talked so much. More often than not, he felt self-conscious, sure that he must be boring him. But Edward was absolutely absorbed, and this compelled him to continue, if only for an excuse to stare into those hypnotic eyes.

Biology was complicated again. Another movie day, which meant they sat close but not touching, fighting the same spark as yesterday. Beau leaned forward on the table and rested his chin on his folded arms. A dragging noise informed him Edward moved his chair away for the first time since they started talking again. It didn't help the situation at all.

Across the room, he noticed Angela was sitting the same way, her eyes burning a hole in the back of Ben Cheney's head. Beau could understand the longing in her gaze almost too well.

The two walked to the gymnasium in silence. After being quizzed all day, Beau treasured the quiet, but it was full of other things. Things that held more weight than his favorite books and movies. Just as he had done the day before, Edward touched his face, stroking a line from temple to jaw with the back of his cool hand. Every thought left Beau's head at the touch. He'd been both looking forward and dreading this moment all day.

Beau and Mike didn't talk during Gym. In fact, no one talked to him at all. Even the locker room was dead quiet when class ended. Beau dressed as fast as he could, ill at ease, and hurried out the door. He had been down this road before; he knew better than to linger.

But Beau felt safe when he went outside and found Edward waiting. The gold eyes flickered to Mike and Tyler, who were coming through the door. Beau folded his arms and stared as they passed, daring them to speak, but neither boy said a word. He stared until the boys disappeared around the corner, not breathing until they were alone again.

Edward was watching him. "Everything all right?"

"Perfect," Beau said through his teeth.

"Shall we?"

The cross-examination began again on the drive home. Edward's questions were different this time, not as easily answered. He wanted to know what Beau missed about Phoenix, insisting on descriptions of anything that he wasn't familiar with, which turned out to be the desert climate in its entirety.

It was a long way away from the deluge outside the Volvo. Beau tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant—the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The hardest thing to explain was why that was so beautiful—to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead. A beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held onto the sun.

His quiet, probing questions kept Beau talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. Finally, when Beau had finished detailing his cluttered room at home, Edward paused.

"Are you finished?" Beau asked in relief.

"Not even close. We talked about your room, the desert, and haven't even covered baseball yet."

"Do you have a week?"

Edward laughed, but his smile faded after a moment. "We're past all the evasions now, right?"

"Right," Beau confirmed. "What's up?"

It was rare to see Edward looking uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable in the _I-want-to-kill-but-I-can't_ kind of way, but the human kind of discomfort, the kind where one would rather swallow a pincushion than admit to his own thoughts. Beau was more than familiar with the latter.

"Well, I was on Google last night."

"Vampires use Google?" Beau thought him to be a more microfilm-in-the-archives type instead. The idea of Edward using a computer was so close to the way Beau learned about vampires that he almost laughed.

"Vampires do a lot of things," Edward muttered. He looked like he could be blushing, if that were possible. "The thing is . . . I Googled _you_."

Beau's smile faded. "Oh."

"What I want to know," Edward began carefully, "Is what kind of injury sidelines a rising baseball star?"

They were past the evasions. Beau frowned. It was time to fess up—he just didn't expect to do it so soon.

"My dad got me into baseball as soon as I could walk. It was our thing, even when we only saw each other once a year. Any time there was a great game on television, Charlie would call me during commercials, just to check if I was watching."

"The American pastime."

"Right," he nodded. "I was good. I was _great._ Made varsity as a freshman and started pitching in the low eighties by the end of sophomore year. I was getting close to eighty-five—a few more months of practice, I would have hit it—and scouts were showing up to all my games."

Edward allowed him a minute to collect his thoughts. "And then?"

"And then, high school kids were high school kids." Beau felt his right hand clench into a fist. "I don't know how they found out I was gay. I never said anything. Never talked about it, never dated anyone. I always said I was too focused on my throwing game to worry about girls. But I must have been careless . . . too long a look in the locker room, maybe . . . anyway, they started hazing me pretty bad. Spray-painted my locker, wrote _fag_ all my notebooks . . . they even keyed my mom's car. As if she had anything to do with it."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah. It got so bad that I lost us the championship game. Seeing them all on the bench, just waiting for me to mess up . . . my nerves were shot. Then they logged into the coach's e-mail and lured me to the locker room after hours."

Edward sat still as a stone. Beau didn't have to look at his face to know he was furious. But there was more to say. The can was open and the worms were out.

"They beat me up," he confessed. "Five or six of them. Broke my ribs, broke my nose . . . stepped on my throwing hand, too. Eventually, when I stopped fighting back, they got bored and left me there. The janitor found me right before school started the next day."

"You . . . you spent all night there? None of them came back?"

"Nope. Some teammates, huh?"

"Some . . . teammates," Edward repeated. "So that's why you were ready to fight the other night."

"Yup," Beau nodded. "I recovered and trained all summer. But when school started up again, I knew I couldn't go back there. It was too much. Renée homeschooled me during the fall semester so I wouldn't fall behind."

"And then you came here."

"Then I came here," Beau agreed. "And that's the kind of injury that sidelines a rising baseball star."

"Did you ever report them? Those boys?"

"No, I thought it was a waste of time. They'd cover for each other. I just wanted to get away. Be done with it, you know? Put it behind me."

Edward turned his head to gaze out at the rain battering the Volvo. They quietly for a long time, listening to the storm, before Beau spoke again.

"Thanks for telling me—that you Googled me," he added, when Edward threw him a curious look.

"Thank you for telling me what happened," he murmured. "I'm sure it's very difficult for you to relive that night."

"It was—it is. But it's nice to talk about it, too. I think that's why I've been trying so hard to fit in with Mike and Jessica. I thought if I could fall in with the right crowd, keep my head down . . . I could prevent it from happening again. I know how silly that sounds."

"And the hat?"

Beau smiled at the memory. "Charlie gave it to me at my first Mariners game. It makes me feel safe, like some kind of shield. When I wear it, I don't feel like the odd one out."

"Everyone wants to be included, Beau," Edward said gently. "I only hope you aren't using it as a crutch."

"Clearly I'm not. You stole it this morning."

They laughed for a minute. Then Edward tilted his head, still smiling. "Your father will be home soon."

"Oh right, my dad. How late is it?"

"It's twilight."

Edward was thoughtful now, gazing at the western horizon, obscured as it was with clouds. Their eyes met and his expression grew wistful.

"It's the safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way . . . the end of another day, the return of night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?"

"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars. Not that you can see them here much."

Edward laughed again. "Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me Saturday . . . "

"Thanks, but no thanks." Beau gathered his books, realizing he was sore from sitting for so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"

"Certainly not! I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"What more is there?" Beau asked, exasperated by the faux outrage he was hearing.

"You'll find out tomorrow." Edward reached across the car to open the door for him. Their shared, sudden proximity sent Beau's heart into frenzied palpitations. For a moment no one moved. Then his hand froze on the handle.

"Not good," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"Another complication."

The flash of headlights through the rain preceded a dark car pulling up to the curb. Beau hopped out, pulling his hood up, curious about this fresh complication.

Edward looked ashen in the headlights; his eyes were locked on something Beau couldn't yet discern in the darkness. He looked frustrated . . . and defiant. The engine revved, tires squealing against the pavement, and within seconds the Volvo disappeared around the corner.

"Hey, Beau!"

"Jacob?" Beau asked, recognizing the husky voice. He couldn't see a thing through the drizzle. Then, helpfully, new headlights—the cruiser's—illuminated the other occupant of the dark car.

Jacob was climbing out, grinning, white teeth visible even in the gloom. In the passenger seat sat a familiar older man, heavyset, with the same dark eyes as his son. Those eyes seemed both too young and too ancient for someone his age.

It was Jacob's father, Billy Black. He was staring at through the windshield, scrutinizing his face, so Beau smiled tentatively in welcome. He looked shocked—afraid, even—and Beau felt his smile fade away.

Another complication, Edward had said.

Had Billy recognized him? Could he really believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.

* * *

**A/N**: Poor fainting Lee. I hope I can provide some levity and teenage angst in this uncertain time.

Still working on my other projects! Keep pushing me on them - I need the pressure. :)


	12. Confessions

"Billy! This is a surprise."

"It's been too long. I hope it's not a bad time," Billy answered as Jacob pushed his wheelchair toward the front door. The sound of his voice revived memories of the old days in La Push. Beau suddenly felt younger, like a child.

"No, it's great," Charlie said enthusiastically. "I hope you can stay for the game. I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Jake."

"Aw, chief, we get permits early on the rez. And we were hoping you'd say that—our TV broke last week."

"Well, of course, Jacob was anxious to see Beau again."

Beau watched the other boy cringe and fought back a surge of remorse. Maybe he was _too_ convincing on the beach. Eager to escape Billy's searching gaze, Beau cleared his throat.

"Are you guys hungry?"

"Naw, we ate just before we came."

"Dad? Food?"

"Sure," Charlie replied.

Beau dug around for a clean pan and tried to keep his mind on dinner. There was no need to panic about Billy just yet. It made little sense to discuss a treaty with vampires in front of Charlie, who wasn't in the tribe, or Jacob, who wasn't supposed to know about the treaty _or_ vampires. He was being paranoid.

Jacob wandered in a few minutes later, looking both guilty and hungry. Beau passed him a grilled cheese and turned back to the stove for the others.

"So, how are things?"

"Pretty good. How about you? Any luck with the master cylinder?"

"Not yet," Jacob sighed. "We borrowed a car to drive over here today. Is something wrong with your truck?"

"Big Red? No, why?"

"Just wondering. You weren't driving it."

Beau stared down into the pan. "A friend drove me home after school."

"Nice ride," Jacob's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here. My dad seemed to know him from somewhere."

"You both know him," Beau said as he set a stack of plates on the counter. "It was Edward Cullen."

"Guess that explains it, then." The other boy looked embarrassed. "I wondered why my dad was acting so strange."

The earlier paranoia began creep back in. "That's right, he doesn't like the Cullens."

"Superstitious old man," Jacob muttered under his breath.

"Do you think he'll say anything to Charlie?"

"I doubt it," Jacob said after an awkward silence. "Charlie chewed him out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since—tonight is a sort of a reunion. I don't think he'll bring it up again."

"Oh."

The two boys carried the plates to the living room. Beau nodded along with the conversation and considered strategies if Billy decided to say something about the Cullens. If that was his plan, Billy never got an opening; Charlie seemed so excited by his best friend visiting that the discussion rarely ceased, even with the game on the television.

"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Jacob asked when the game finally ended.

Beau cleared his throat. "I'm not sure."

"That was fun, Charlie," Billy was saying.

"Come up for the next game." Charlie sounded delighted at the prospect. Beau felt a stab of guilt for rushing this evening past, knowing how happy it made his father.

"Sure, sure, we'll be here. Have a good night." Billy's eyes shifted to meet Beau's, his smile disappearing. "You take care, Beau."

"Thanks, Billy."

The Swans stood watching until the car pulled away. Charlie turned to face him, still pleased by the unexpected visit. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?"

Beau hesitated. "Good. My badminton team won all four games today."

"Switching from baseball to badminton?"

"No sir, absolutely not, Chief sir."

"Ha ha," Charlie chuckled. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday . . . I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put off your trip until someone can go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."

"Dad, you're doing a great job," Beau told him sincerely. "I've never minded being alone—I'm too much like you."

The answering smile made him relax. He was in the clear for tonight. Beau climbed the stairs toward his room, suddenly exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the day.

Beau slept better that night, too tired to dream. He woke to a pearl gray morning, blissful, deciding the previous evening was harmless. He had a hasty breakfast with Charlie and raced around the house getting ready. Edward was faster, however, and waited inside the shiny car with the windows down and engine off.

"You're hatless today."

"It's in my backpack," Beau confessed.

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine, how was your night?"

"Pleasant." Edward was amused; Beau felt like he was missing an inside joke.

"Can I ask what you did?"

"No," Edward grinned. "Today is still _mine._"

He wanted to know about people today: more about Renée, her hobbies, and what she and Beau did in their free time together. Then he wanted to know about the one grandmother he'd known, his few school friends, and his nonexistent dating life. Edward seemed surprised as Jessica and Angela that he had never dated anyone, even knowing what happened with the team.

"Really? Not one date?"

Beau shrugged. "Glenn Burke and Billy Bean came out after they were done with the MLB. I had too much to lose."

"And you never met anyone you wanted?"

"Not in Phoenix."

Edward frowned.

Lunch found them sitting at their usual table. Beau took advantage of the brief pause in conversation to take a bite of his bagel.

"I should have let you drive yourself today."

"Why?"

"I'm leaving with Alice after lunch."

"Oh." Beau tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. "No problem, I'll walk."

"I'm not making you walk home," Edward said impatiently. "We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have the keys with me," Beau explained. "Seriously, I don't mind walking. It's good for me."

What he minded was losing time with him.

"Your truck will be here with the key in the ignition . . . unless you're afraid someone might steal it."

"All right," Beau agreed, ignoring the disparaging tone Edward took when discussing Big Red. There were a million places in the house those keys could be. Edward seemed to feel the challenge in his consent; he smirked, overconfident.

"So, where are you going?"

"Hunting. If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." His face grew morose . . . and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."

He refused to be convinced to fear Edward, no matter how real the danger might be. The choice had been made.

"No," Beau whispered. "I can't."

"Perhaps you're right," Edward murmured. His eyes seemed to be darkening by the minute. Beau forced himself to look away.

"What time will I see you tomorrow?"

"That depends . . . it's a Saturday. Don't humans like to sleep in on the weekends?"

"Not this human."

Edward smiled wryly. "The same time as usual, then. Will Charlie be there?"

"No, he's fishing tomorrow."

His voice turned sharp. "And if you don't come home, what will he think?"

Beau matched his cool tone. "He knows I need to do laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

They scowled at each other. Edward's anger was much more impressive. When he was sure he lost the glowering contest, Beau spoke again.

"What are you hunting tonight?"

"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far."

"Why are you going with Alice?"

"Alice is the most . . . supportive."

"And the others?" Beau asked, anxious now, when he realized they were outnumbered. "What are they?"

"Incredulous, for the most part."

Beau glanced at the family across the cafeteria. The other Cullens were staring off in different directions, exactly as they had been when Beau first arrived, but now they were down by one. Their beautiful, bronze-haired brother sat across from him, his golden eyes troubled.

"They don't like me."

"That's not it. They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

"Frankly, neither do I."

Edward rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as if asking for heavenly patience. "I told you—you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. You fascinate me."

Beau glared, sure that he was being teased.

"Having the advantages I do," Edward explained, touching his forehead discreetly, "I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you . . . you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

Beau looked away in embarrassment. His words made him feel like a science experiment. He found himself staring at the other Cullens as their brother spoke again.

"That part is easy enough to explain. But there's more . . . and it's not so easy to put into words—"

Suddenly, Rosalie, his blonde and breathtaking sister, turned to meet Beau's gaze. Her eyes were dark and cold. They stared at each other, thirty feet apart, and yet, Beau could feel the frost on his skin. She reminded him of Medusa—turning men to stone. He shivered.

Edward broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under his breath; it was almost a hiss. Rosalie turned away at the sound.

"I'm sorry about that. She's just worried. You see . . . it's dangerous for more than just me, if after spending so much time with you so publicly . . . "

"If?"

Edward was staring at his hands. "If this has an unhappy ending. Have you considered that?"

Of course Beau had considered it—then he rejected it. Logically, he knew he should have been frightened, but no fear arrived. Only a painful ache for Edward's clear anguish. And then he felt frustrated that Rosalie interrupted whatever he was about to say.

"And you have to leave now?" Beau asked.

"Yes," Edward said, lifting his head at last. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take anymore."

Beau jumped. Alice—inky hair in a halo around her elfin face—was suddenly standing behind her brother. He greeted her without looking away from Beau. "Alice."

"Edward," she answered. Her voice was a high soprano.

"Alice, Beau—Beau, Alice."

"Hello, Beau." Her obsidian eyes were unreadable, but she had a friendly smile. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Hi Alice," Beau said, extending a hand in her direction. She looked surprised that he was willing to touch her. Alice took his hand in her tiny porcelain one and smiled again.

"Are you ready?"

"Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

Alice left without another word. Beau watched her go, amazed by the fluid gait, before turning back to Edward.

"Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?"

"No, 'have fun' works as well as anything."

Beau tried to sound upbeat. "Have fun, then."

"I'll try," Edward grinned. "And you try to be safe, please."

"Safe in Forks—what a challenge."

"For you it _is_ a challenge." His jaw hardened. "Promise."

"I promise to try to be safe," Beau said obediently. "I'll do the laundry tonight—that ought to be fraught with peril."

"Don't fall in," Edward mocked. Though not the mind reader, Beau knew his past lingered on Edward's mind, and that the latter's warnings were heartfelt.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" Edward mused.

Beau nodded glumly.

"I'll be there in the morning," he promised. Edward reached across the table to touch his face, lightly brushing along the cheekbone as he did almost every day this week, then followed his sister out the door. Beau stared after him until he was gone.

Beau was tempted to ditch the rest of the day, at the very least Gym, but a warning instinct stopped him. His absence would now be linked to Edward. And Edward worried about the time they spent together publicly . . . if things went wrong. Beau refused to dwell on the last thought. He had to put his energy toward making things safer for them.

Beau knew intuitively that tomorrow would be pivotal. Their relationship continued to balance on the point of a knife. They would fall off one edge or the other, depending entirely upon Edward's decision, or his instincts. There was nothing more terrifying or excruciating than the thought of turning away from Edward. It was an impossibility.

He walked to the parking lot after the final bell. Big Red was waiting in the Volvo's usual space. Beau shook his head, incredulous, when he found the key in the ignition.

There was a piece of paper folded on the seat. Beau got in and closed the door to the cab. Two words were written in his elegant script.

_Be safe._

The roar of the truck, as he predicted, frightened him. Beau laughed at his own jumpiness. When he got home, he found the house just as he left it. The only thing missing were his keys, which now sat in his jacket pocket. He shook his head. Maybe he had hung them up after all.

Beau called Jessica to wish her luck for the dance. She offered the same wish for his day with Edward until he told her about the cancellation. She sounded more disappointed than necessary for a third-party observer. He said goodbye and looked for something else to do.

His father was absentminded at dinner. Beau thought he might be worried about something at work or he was really enjoying the lasagna—it was hard to tell with Charlie.

"You know, Dad . . . " Beau began, breaking into his reverie.

"What's that, Beau?"

"I think you're right about Seattle. I'll wait until a friend can go with me."

"Oh," Charlie said, surprised. "Oh, okay. Do you want me to stay home?"

"No, Dad, don't change your plans. I've got a million things to do . . . homework, laundry . . . I need to go to the library and to the grocery store. I'll be in and out all day . . . you go and have fun."

"I thought you said this library wasn't any good."

Beau struggled to contain his surprise. He made that comment over a week ago. Maybe his father wasn't as unobservant as he made him out to be. Then he realized Charlie was talking again and tried to pay attention.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish—we're down to a two, maybe three years' supply."

"You're easy to live with, Beau."

Beau returned his crinkly-eyed smile. "I could say the same thing about you."

He started on his laundry after dinner. Unfortunately it was the kind of activity that only kept the hands busy. His mind had too much free time. It cycled endlessly between coming out to Charlie and anticipation for what lay in store tomorrow. Beau reminded himself that he'd made a choice and wasn't going back on it. They both had to make things safe.

Beau pulled the note out of his pocket and reread it a dozen times. He wanted him to be safe, Beau knew, and that included being safe from Edward himself. He just had to keep the faith that, in the end, desire would win out over everything else.

But a tiny voice in the back of his mind wondered if it hurt _very_ much . . . if it ended badly.

By now it was late enough for an acceptable bedtime. Beau forced himself to avoid ghoulish thoughts by listening to a collection of Chopin's nocturnes, and soon sank into unconsciousness.

The next morning, Beau showered, shaved, then rushed around in a frenzy. He had to burn off the excess energy somehow. He smoothed the collar against his neck and straightened up the CDs he scattered on the floor last night.

He found the Mariners cap on the kitchen table and decided to leave it behind. He didn't need it when he was with Edward.

He had a mouthful of toothpaste when a quiet knock sent his heart thudding against his ribcage.

Edward waiting on the doorstep. The vampire was somber, but soon enough, a laugh burst out of him. "Good morning."

"What's wrong?" Beau glanced down, looking for a missing button, or an open fly.

"We match."

A martyred expression crossed Edward's face as he stood on the passenger side of the truck. Beau climbed into the driver's seat, reached over to unlock the door, and tried not to look smug.

"We made a deal. So, where to?"

"Put your seatbelt on—I'm nervous already."

Beau threw him a dirty look. "Where to?"

"Take the one-oh-one north."

It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road with Edward watching. He compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.

"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"

"Big Red is old enough to be your car's grandfather—have some respect."

They left the houses behind soon enough. He turned right and drove until the pavement ended as instructed. Beau parked Big Red on the narrow shoulder and jumped out of the cab.

"What are you thinking?"

"Just wondering where we're going."

"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice," Edward explained as he came around the front of the truck. "Did you tell your father what you were up to?"

"Nope," Beau said as he knotted the sweater around his waist. "I told him I have chores to do."

"But Jessica thinks we're going to Seattle together?"

"No, I told her you canceled on me—which is true."

"No one knows you're with me?" Edward demanded.

"That depends . . . I assume you told Alice?"

"That's very helpful, Beau," he snapped. "Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?"

Beau folded his arms defensively. "You said it might cause trouble if we're seen together publicly. I fixed it. What's the big deal?"

"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me_—_if you_ don't come _home_?"

Beau shrugged. Fuming, Edward pulled off his sweater and tossed it through the open window of the truck. Finally, he started into the dark forest ahead. Beau stifled a gasp.

He was too perfect. There was no way this godlike creature was meant for him.

Edward turned back. "Do you want to go home?"

"No," Beau retorted, shouldering past perfection until he realized he had no idea where they were going.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know where to go, so . . . you'll have to be very patient. We should get moving."

"I can be patient—if I make a great effort," Edward promised, trying to hold his gaze. He seemed to be working hard to be apologetic now, trying to lift Beau out of his sudden, unexplained dejection.

The hike was mostly flat. Edward would take the lead and hold the damp ferns aside for Beau to step through. When they climbed over fallen trees or boulders, Edward would guide him, a cool hand grasping his elbow, until the obstacle was behind them. The touch never failed to make Beau's heart race erratically. Twice, when that happened, he was sure Edward could hear the _thud-thud_ of every beat.

Occasionally Edward would ask a random question he hadn't gotten to in the past two days of interrogation. He asked about birthdays, grade school teachers, and childhood pets. Beau had to admit he killed three fish in a row and gave up on the whole idea. Edward laughed at that, louder than usual, the bell-like echoes bouncing back to them from the empty woods.

"I do have two succulents," Beau said, panting as they climbed over yet another boulder. This route was a labyrinth of ancient trees, but Edward seemed perfectly at ease with it.

"Did you name them, like you named Big Red?"

"Never got around to it."

The light filtering through the canopy was changing. It was going to be a sunny day, just as Edward predicted. A thrill of excitement rolled quickly into impatience.

"Are we there yet?"

"Nearly," Edward smiled, pointing. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

"Um, should I?"

"Maybe it's a bit soon for _your_ eyes."

"Time to visit the optometrist," Beau muttered.

At long last, sunlight appeared ahead, tinged yellow instead of green. They reached the last fringe of ferns and stepped into the loveliest place Beau had ever seen. The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers—violet, yellow, and soft white—just like the sea anemones in the tidal pools of First Beach. A stream bubbled nearby. The sun was overhead now, high noon, veiling the meadow in a haze of buttery sunshine.

Beau was awestruck. A place this lovely couldn't exist on the green alien planet. Not in this little rainy town.

Beau turned, wanting to share this moment with Edward, but he wasn't there. He stood at the entrance of the meadow, shaded by the canopy, watching with cautious eyes. Only then did Beau remember the enigma of Edward and the sun. He'd promised to share the secret.

Beau smiled encouragingly and beckoned Edward to join him. The latter held up a warning hand. Beau paused, rocking back on his heels, and waited.

Edward seemed to take a deep breath before he stepped into the glow of the midday sun.

* * *

Edward in the sunlight was shocking. Beau stared at him for what felt like hours, terrified this otherworldly creature would vanish if he looked away. He couldn't get used to it. Edward's skin sparkled as if a thousand tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay still in the grass, a perfect statue, shimmering like a crystal.

Now and then his lips would move. He was singing to himself, too low for the human ear to catch.

The meadow, so spectacular at first, paled next to his magnificence.

Beau reached out one hesitant finger to stroke the back of his shimmering hand. When he looked up again, Edward's eyes were open, watching him. They were butterscotch today, warm, light after hunting. A playful smile turned up the corners of his lips.

"I don't scare you?"

"No more than usual," Beau assured him. He inched closer, braver this time, extending an entire hand to touch Edward's forearm. "Do you mind?"

"No. You can't imagine how that feels."

Beau lightly trailed a hand over the perfect forearm muscles. He followed the bluish veins up to the elbow then changed course, flipping Edward's palm over to watch the skin catch the light. It glittered like a gemstone.

"Tell me what you're thinking. It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time," Beau reminded him.

"It's a hard life. But you didn't tell me."

Beau hesitated. "I _was_ wishing I knew what you were thinking."

"And?"

"I was wishing I could believe you're real. And that I wasn't afraid."

Edward's voice was a soft murmur. "I don't want you to be afraid."

He knew what Edward couldn't truthfully say—that he didn't need to be afraid. That there was nothing to fear.

"Well, that's not exactly the fear I meant, though that's certainly something to think about."

Edward sat up so quickly Beau missed it. Their faces were only inches apart now. Beau might have—should have—flinched away from the unexpected closeness, but he couldn't. The golden eyes were mesmerizing.

"What are you afraid of, then?"

Beau couldn't answer. Then, without thinking, he leaned forward.

At once Edward was gone. In the time it took for Beau to realize where he vanished, Edward was twenty feet away, standing in the shade of a fir tree.

His empty hands stung. He was hurt—shocked. "I'm . . . sorry . . . Edward."

"Give me a moment."

Edward walked back at a human pace. He stopped, still several feet away, and sat on the ground. His smile was apologetic.

"I am so very sorry. Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?"

Beau nodded, not able to smile at the joke yet, before he recognized the familiar sensation of adrenaline surging through his veins. He _was_ afraid. And by now Edward knew it.

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I? Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my smell. As if I need any of that!"

Then he was gone again, faster than even Superman, circling the meadow in half a second.

"As if you could outrun me."

Edward effortlessly ripped off a tree branch. He lifted it, aimed the branch like a javelin, and threw it at another tree. The tree split on impact. Before Beau could process these details, Edward was there, not two feet from where he sat now.

"As if you could fight me off," he said gently.

Beau sat without moving. He was more frightened of him than he had ever been. Gone was the carefully cultivated facade. Edward had never been less human . . . or more beautiful. Ashen, eyes wide, Beau sat like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake. The fear he experienced in the locker room, and then again in Port Angeles, could not compare to this moment.

Edward's eyes glowed with an animal excitement. Then, as the seconds passed, they dimmed. His expression slowly folded into a mask of ancient sadness.

"Don't be afraid. I promise . . . I _swear_ not to hurt you."

Beau watched him approach until they sat just a foot apart.

"Please forgive me. I _can_ control myself. You caught me off guard. But I'm on my best behavior now. I'm not thirsty today, honestly."

At that Beau had to laugh. It was shaky and breathless. Stiff.

"Are you all right?" Edward reached out, carefully now, to place his marble hand back in Beau's.

Beau dropped his eyes, then looked up again, finding only repentance waiting for him. He smiled back, timidly, tracing fresh lines on the icy skin.

"So, where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" His voice held the cadence and propriety of an earlier century.

"I honestly can't remember."

"I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right."

"Well?"

Beau searched for the right thing to say. The seconds ticked by.

"How easily frustrated I am," Edward sighed.

Beau had to remember this was new to the both of them and took heart at this realization. Though Edward had years of life experience, this was hard for him, too. He'd come of age at a different time.

"I was afraid . . . because, well, for obvious reasons, I can't _stay_ with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to stay with you, much more than I should."

"Yes," Edward agreed. "That is something to be afraid of, indeed. Wanting to be with me. That's really not in your best interest. I should have left a long time ago. I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."

"I don't want you to leave," Beau mumbled.

"Which is exactly why I should. But don't worry. I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"I'm glad."

"Don't be!" Edward withdrew his hand, more gently this time; his voice was harsher than usual. Harsh for him, but still more beautiful than any human voice. It was hard to keep up—his frequent mood changes always left Beau one step behind, dazed.

"It's not only your company I crave! Never forget _that_. Never forget I am more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else."

"I don't understand."

"How do I explain?" Edward mused, placing one hand back into Beau's grasp. "And without frightening you again . . . hmm . . . "

Beau tightened his grip on that hand, knowing, sadly, if Edward wanted to pull away, he was powerful enough to do so.

"That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth."

Beau watched Edward twine their fingers together. "You know how everyone enjoys different flavors of ice cream? Some people love chocolate, others prefer strawberry?"

He nodded.

"Sorry about the food analogy, it seems like the only thing you could relate to. Perhaps I should have changed ice cream to something more addicting for humans, like alcohol, or heroin."

"Addiction is addiction. So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin, Mr. Hyde?" Beau teased, trying to lighten the mood. Edward seemed to appreciate the effort.

"Yes, you are _exactly_ my brand of heroin. And today I'm trying to be the good doctor Jekyll."

"Does that happen often, the . . . craving?"

"I spoke to my brothers about it. To Jasper, every one of you is much the same. He's the most recent to join our family. It's a struggle for him to abstain at all. He hasn't had time to grow sensitive to the differences in smell, in flavor . . . sorry."

"I don't mind," Beau assured him. "Please don't worry about offending me, or frightening me, or whichever. That's the way you think. I can understand, or I can try at least. Just explain however you can."

"Jasper wasn't sure if he'd ever come across someone who was as _appealing_ as you are to me. Which makes me think not. Emmett has been on the wagon longer, so to speak, and he understood what I meant. He says it happened twice for him, one stronger than than the other."

"And for you?"

"Never."

The word hung there in the warm breeze. Beau almost didn't want to know the answer to the next question. But the words came out anyway. "What did Emmett do?"

It was exactly the wrong thing to ask. Edward's face darkened. He looked away, as if steeling himself to answer, but he did not, or, more likely, could not.

"I guess I know."

"Even the strongest of us fall off the wagon, don't we?"

"What are you asking? My permission?" Beau's voice was sharper than he intended. He tried to make his tone kinder, guessing—no, knowing—what this type of honesty could cost someone. "I mean, is there no hope, then?"

How calmly he could discuss his own death! But he had flirted with death already, certainly more than his fair share. Sometimes he thought everything that came after the beating was a dream. A dream, he thought, or the afterlife. Maybe he was already dead, and Edward was some kind of reward for his pain.

"No, no!" Edward was instantly contrite. "Of course there's hope! I mean, of course I won't . . . it's different for us. Emmett . . . these were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as . . . practiced, as careful, as he is now."

"So . . . " Beau paused. "If we met . . . in a dark alley or something . . . "

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and—" Edward stopped abruptly. "When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carlisle has built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself."

Edward was scowling now. Both boys thought back to that fateful January day. It felt like eons ago.

"You must have thought I was possessed."

"I couldn't understand why," Beau admitted. "How you could hate me so quickly . . . I thought it was something to do with who I am. With what I am."

"To me, it was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. I thought of a hundred different ways to lure you from the room. And I fought them back, thinking of my family, what I could do to them. I had to run out, to get away before I could say the words that would make you follow . . . "

Beau couldn't speak for a moment. How silly his first-day musings seemed now. Edward hadn't been fighting against his homophobia—he was fighting against his homicidal instincts.

"You would have come."

Beau was equally certain. "Without a doubt."

Edward frowned at that. "And then as I tried to rearrange my schedule to avoid you, you were there—in that close, warm little room, the scent was maddening. I so very nearly took you then. There was only one other frail human there—so easily dealt with."

Beau shivered in the warm sun, recalling these memories anew through a predator's eyes, only now grasping the danger. Poor Ms. Cope. How close they both were to death.

"I ran away to Alaska." Edward sounded ashamed, as if admitting a great cowardice. "I spent two days there, with some old acquaintances . . . but I was homesick. I hated knowing I'd upset my adopted family. I convinced myself it was weak to run away. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude, not even close, but I was strong. Who were you, an insignificant little boy"—he grinned suddenly—"to chase me from the place I wanted to be? So I came back."

And so he did. Precautions were taken—extra hunting. Further complications arose when his telepathy didn't work on Beau's mind. There was no way of knowing, other than through simple human conversation, what Beau was thinking. And what he suspected.

Beau tapped his forehead. "Freak mind."

"I was eager to decipher some of your thoughts. But you were too interesting, I found myself caught up in your expressions . . . and every now and then you would stir the air with your hand and the scent would stun me again . . . "

Then the van incident happened. Beau thought back to the squealing tires. Another brush with death. Maybe his number really _was_ up.

Edward squeezed his hand with more pressure Beau expected. "All I could think at the time was, '_Not him_.'"

Common sense told Beau he should be terrified. Instead he was relieved to finally understand. He was filled with compassion for Edward's suffering, even now, as he confessed the desire to drink Beau's blood.

His voice was faint. "And in the hospital?"

"I was appalled. I couldn't believe I had put us in danger after all, put myself in your power—you of all people. As if I needed another motive to kill you."

They both flinched as that word slipped out. "But it had the opposite effect. I fought with Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper when they suggested that now was the time . . . it was the worst fight we've ever had. Carlisle sided with me and Alice. Esme told me to do whatever I had to in order to stay."

But despite Edward's hostility, Beau kept his word. He found himself feeling proud that he stuck to his principles, no matter how dangerous they could be.

"And for all that," he continued, "I'd have fared better if I _had _exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt you."

"Why?"

"Beaufort. _Beau_," Edward sighed. "I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me. The thought of you, still, white, cold . . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses . . . it would be unendurable. You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

Beau struggled to keep up with the direction their conversation had taken. From the cheerful topic of his impending demise to declarations of love. He felt like he had been waiting for this moment since the first time he laid eyes on Edward Cullen.

"You already know how I feel, of course. I'm here . . . which roughly translated, means I'd rather die than stay away from you. I'm an idiot."

"You _are _an idiot," Edward agreed with a chuckle. The two boys laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such an event.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb."

Beau made a face at being compared to a barnyard animal, but inwardly, he thrilled at the words. "Stupid lamb."

"What a sick, masochistic lion."

"Tell me why you ran from me before."

His smile faded. "You know why."

"No, I mean _exactly_ what did I do wrong?" He stroked the back of Edward's hand. "This seems to be all right."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Beau. It was my fault."

"But I want to help, if I can, to not make this harder for you."

"Well . . . most humans instinctively shy away from us. I wasn't expecting you to come so close. It was the smell of your _throat._"

Beau lifted a hand to shield his newly shaven neck. "Okay, then. No throat exposure."

It worked; he laughed. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else."

Edward paused for a moment, then placed a hand on the side of Beau's neck. It rested over the carotid artery, where, underneath, his heart dutifully pumped blood to his brain. Beau didn't move. He expected to feel terror, but it didn't come. There were, however, other feelings . . .

"You see," Edward said. "Perfectly fine."

Beau hadn't moved. He only wished his pulse would slow down. Surely Edward could feel it racing underneath his palm.

"The blush on your cheeks is lovely," Edward murmured. He moved to cradle Beau's face in his marble hands. "Be very still."

Slowly, never looking away, Edward leaned forward. Then abruptly, gently, he rested his cold cheek against the base of Beau's throat. Beau found himself unable to move even if he wanted to.

With deliberate slowness, Edward's hands slid down the sides of his neck. Beau shivered, but those hands didn't pause as they softly moved to his broad shoulders, then stopped.

Edward came to rest with the side of his face pressed tenderly against Beau's chest.

Listening to his heart.

"Ah," he sighed.

Beau wasn't sure how long they sat that way. It could have been hours. Eventually his pulse quieted. He wanted to run his hand through Edward's bronze hair to see if it was as soft as it looked. But he knew at any moment it could be too much, and his life could end, so quickly he might not even notice. Yet the fear never returned. He couldn't think of anything except that Edward was touching him. And then, too soon, he let go.

"It won't be so hard again," Edward said with satisfaction. His eyes were peaceful.

"Was that very hard for you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. And you?"

"No, it wasn't bad . . . for me."

"You know what I mean." Edward took Beau's hand placed it against his own cheek. "Here. Do you feel how warm it is?"

Beau barely noticed the temperature. He could finally touch him, almost freely, something he had been afraid to hope for since the first time they met.

"Don't move."

No one could be still like Edward. He closed his eyes and became a stone.

Beau took care not to make any unexpected movements. He explored, tracing one fingertip as lightly as a butterfly's wing, pausing at his lips. Beau felt them part under his touch. He wanted to lean in, to inhale the scent of him, but retreated. He didn't want to push too hard.

The golden eyes opened. Hungry. Not in a way to make him afraid, but rather to tighten the muscles in the pit of his stomach.

"I wish you could feel the complexity . . . the confusion . . . I feel. That you could understand."

"Tell me."

"I don't think I can. I told you, the hunger . . . the thirst . . . deplorable creature that I am, I feel for you. And I think you can understand that, to an extent. Though, as you are not addicted to any illegal substances, you probably can't empathize completely."

He touched Beau's mouth with a cold fingertip. "There are other hungers. Hungers I don't even understand, that are foreign to me."

"I may understand _that _better than you think."

"I'm not used to feeling so human. Is it always like this?"

Beau shook his head. "I wouldn't know."

"I don't know how to be close to you," he admitted. "I don't know if I can."

Beau leaned forward cautiously and laid his cheek against Edward's chest.

"This is enough," he sighed. In a very human gesture, Edward put his arms around him, pressing his face against Beau's hair. Just as Beau wanted to do in their earlier embrace.

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for."

"I have human instincts—they may be buried deep, but they're there."

They sat together for another immeasurable moment. Beau wondered if Edward as unwilling to move as he was. But he could see the fading light in the distance, the shadows of the forest growing longer, and sighed again.

"You have to go."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind."

It sounded like he was smiling. "It's getting clearer."

They stood up and brushed the grass off their jeans.

"Can I show you something?" Edward asked, a sudden excitement flaring in his eyes.

"Show me what?"

"I'll show you how _I _travel in the forest. But don't worry. You'll be very safe and we'll get back to Big Red much faster."

Beau was wary. "Will you turn into a bat?"

"Like I haven't heard _that _one before!"

"Right, I'm sure you get that all the time."

"Come on, little coward, climb on my back."

Beau laughed at him. "You want _me_ to climb on your back? Like a piggyback ride?"

Edward took a step in his direction. "That's exactly what I want."

"But I'm taller than you! This isn't going to work."

Edward reached for him anyway. Beau groaned. This was going to be humiliating.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack."

"Hah!" he snorted. Beau had never seen him in such high spirits before. Then he flinched, startled, when Edward pressed his palm to his face and inhaled deeply.

"Easier all the time," he muttered.

And then he was running.

Edward streaked through the dark, thick underbrush of the forest like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that his feet touched the earth. His breathing never changed, never indicated any effort. But the trees flew by at deadly speeds, always missing them by inches.

Beau was too terrified to close his eyes. He felt like he was stupidly sticking his head out the window of an airplane. And, for the first time in his life, Beau felt the first warnings of motion sickness.

Then it was over. It took hours to reach Edward's meadow, and now, in a matter of minutes, they were back at the truck.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?"

He stood motionless, waiting for Beau to climb down. He tried, but his muscles wouldn't respond.

"Beau?" Edward asked, anxious now.

"I think I need to lie down."

"Oh, sorry." He waited, but Beau still couldn't move.

"I think I need help."

Edward laughed quietly as he loosened the stranglehold around his own neck. There was no resisting the iron strength of his hands. Then he carefully placed Beau on the springy ferns.

"How do you feel?"

"Dizzy."

"Put your head between your knees."

Beau tried that. It helped a little. The moments passed and eventually he could raise his head. There was a hollow ringing sound in his ears.

"I guess that wasn't the best idea."

Beau's voice was weak. "No, it was very interesting."

"Hah! You're as white as a ghost—no, you're as white as _me_!"

Beau found the strength to look put out. "I think I should have closed my eyes."

"Remember that next time."

"Next time!" Beau groaned. He wasn't sure he could handle a next time.

Edward laughed, unaffected, still radiant.

"Show-off."

"Open your eyes, Beau," he said quietly. "I was thinking, while I was running . . . "

"About not hitting the trees, I hope."

"Silly Beau," he chuckled. "Running is second nature to me, it's not something I have to think about."

"Show-off," Beau repeated.

"No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try."

He took Beau's face in his hands again. The latter couldn't breathe.

Edward hesitated, not in the normal way, the human way. Not the way a man might hesitate before he kissed a man, to gauge his reaction, to see how he would be received. Perhaps he would hesitate to prolong the moment, that ideal moment of anticipation, sometimes better than the kiss itself.

Edward hesitated to test himself, to see if this was safe, to make sure he was still in control of his need.

And then their lips met.

Blood boiled underneath Beau's skin. He gasped. He knotted his fingers in that bright bronze hair, delighted to find that it was softer than he expected. Something warm blossomed in Beau's chest and surged through his entire body. His lips parted as he felt the sparks of electricity return without warning.

Edward lurched back almost at once.

"Oops."

"That's an understatement."

Edward's eyes were wild. All the progress made today appeared to have been thrown out the window.

"Should I . . . ?"

His hands refused to let Beau move so much as an inch. "No, it's tolerable. Wait for a moment, please."

Beau watched, trapped, as the excitement in Edward's eyes faded. Then he smiled a surprisingly impish grin.

"There," he said, obviously pleased with himself.

"Tolerable?" Beau asked, blushing.

Edward laughed aloud. "I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

"I wish I could say the same. I'm sorry."

"You _are _only human, after all."

"Thanks so much." Beau took his icy hand, needing the support more than he thought. His balance had not yet returned.

"Are you still faint from the run? Or was it my kissing expertise?"

How lighthearted, how human he seemed as he laughed. He was a different Edward now.

"I think it's some of both."

"Maybe you should let me drive."

"Big Red? With your leadfoot? No way!"

"I can drive better than you on your best day," Edward teased. "You have much slower reflexes."

"I'm sure that's true, but I don't think my nerves, or my truck, could take it."

"Some trust, please, Beau."

"Nope. Not a chance."

Edward might have let him drive if Beau hadn't wobbled again. Then his arm became an inescapable snare.

"Beau, I've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. I'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. Besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk."

"Drunk?"

"You're intoxicated by my very presence." Edward was smirking.

Drunk _and_ defeated, Beau tossed the key through the air, unsurprised when Edward caught it. "Just take it easy on Big Red, please."

"I will."

"Are you not affected at all? By my . . . presence?" Beau tried not to sound insecure about it.

Again his features transformed, the expression there becoming soft. Edward didn't answer at first. He backed the taller boy against the truck with only a few steps. Beau felt his pulse take off, the heartbeat surging faster than a hummingbird.

Edward leaned forward to brush his lips along Beau's jaw. "Regardless, I have better reflexes."

* * *

**A/N**: I made a few graphics for the story over at my Tumblr (twistedkey). Take a look! If you have a Tumblr, drop it in the review and I'll follow back.

Thank you for reading!


	13. Mind Over Matter

Edward could drive well when he kept the speed reasonable. He twined their hands together, eyes flickering between the setting sun and Beau, looking more relaxed than ever. The rays cast glimmers of ruby through the cab when they hit Edward's skin, and Beau couldn't help but stare, captivated by this magic.

To Beau's amazement, Edward sang along to a song on oldies station, his voice rich and heady. It bewitched him.

"You like fifties music?"

"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties or the seventies, ugh! The eighties were bearable."

"You're _insane_. You're writing off the Beatles! Led Zeppelin . . . The Rolling Stones? Hello?"

"Overrated, all of them."

Beau sputtered at this generalization, knowing Charlie would have done the same. The chief didn't listen to much else in the house. "Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?"

"Does it matter much?" Edward was smiling.

"No, but I still wonder . . . there's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night."

"I wonder if it will upset you."

"Try me."

Edward sighed, letting his eyes meet Beau's, and whatever he saw there must have encouraged him.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901."

"White Sox fan," Beau murmured, remembering. Edward nodded in amusement.

"Carlisle found me in a hospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen and dying of the Spanish influenza. I don't remember it well—it was a very long time ago, and human memories fade. I do remember how it felt . . . when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing to forget."

"What about your parents?"

"They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That's why he chose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize I was gone."

Beau felt a pang of sadness at his words. How dreadful it must have been, orphaned and sick, to go into that hospital and know he wasn't coming out.

"How did he . . . save you?"

"It was difficult," Edward said carefully. "Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate of us . . . I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history. For me, it was . . . very painful."

It was clear he would say no more on that subject. Beau had so many questions. But before he could ask the most pressing one, Edward spoke again, no doubt anticipating what he wanted to know.

"Carlisle acted from loneliness. That's usually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in his family. Then he found Esme." Edward's smile grew fond at the mention of his stepmother. "What they have together is marvelous."

Beau knew he was smiling, too. "How so?"

"They both love love," he explained, squeezing Beau's fingers as he spoke. "They take real pleasure in growth . . . light . . . happiness. Carlisle works like a dog to save his patients, and Esme, she takes on any project—an old, neglected house, a garden that's struggling—and she'll make it beautiful again."

"Soulmates," Beau murmured, and Edward nodded in agreement. "How did he find Esme?"

"She'd fallen from a cliff. They brought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heart was still beating."

"So you must be dying, then, to become . . . "

"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who had another choice." His respect for Carlisle was obvious. "He says it's easier when the blood is weak."

"What about Emmett? And Rosalie?"

"Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till much later he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him." Edward rolled his eyes. "But she was never more than a sister, for now-obvious reasons. Two years later she found Emmett. She was hunting—we were in Appalachia at the time—and found a bear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more than a hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm only beginning to understand how difficult that journey was for her."

"But she made it," Beau encouraged him.

"Yes. She saw something in his face that made her strong enough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they live separately from us as a married couple. But the younger we pretend to be, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, so we all enrolled in high school. I suppose we'll have to go to their wedding in a few years, _again_."

They laughed for a moment.

"Alice and Jasper?"

"Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed a conscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belonged to another . . . family, a _very_ different kind of family. He became depressed and wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certain gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind."

"Really?" Beau was fascinated. He recalled the slight girl and her shadow, Jasper. "But you said you were the only one who could hear people's thoughts."

"That's true. She knows other things. She _sees_ things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. Things change."

Beau didn't miss the way he tensed at the end and hurried to ask another question, before the good humor ran out.

"What kind of things does she see?"

"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example, when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they may pose."

"Are there a lot of . . . your kind?" That surprised him. How many could walk among mankind undetected? How many blended into ordinary, human lives, when they were so extraordinary?

"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—a sly glance toward Beau—"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We lived together for a time, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live . . . differently . . . tend to band together."

"And the others?"

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious, like anything else. But we run across others from now and then, because most of us prefer the north."

"Why is that?"

They were parked in front of the house by now. It was quiet and dark, and there was no moon. The porch light was off so he knew Charlie wasn't home yet.

"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" Edward teased. "Do you think I could walk down the street in the sunlight without causing traffic accidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula. It's one of the most sunless places in the world. We like being able to go outside during the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

Beau laughed with him. "Oh, I know it's sunless, trust me. So that's where the legends came from? Avoiding the sun?"

"Probably."

"And Alice came from another family? Like Jasper?"

"No, and that _is_ a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all. And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made her walked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If she hadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle and known that she would someday become one of us, she probably would have turned into a total savage."

There was so much to think through. His head was spinning with questions. Questions and hunger. It had been hours since breakfast, and then the hunger made itself known in an embarrassing way, when his stomach growled.

"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner."

"I'm fine, really."

Edward shook his head. "I've seen you eat. I know that's a lie."

"I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness after a long day in the light. Beau thought he might be under a spell now. He was enchanted by Edward.

"Can I come in?" Edward asked.

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, if that's all right." Edward was on the other side of the truck in seconds. He opened the door, a gallant gentleman of his time. Beau laughed.

"Very human."

"It's definitely resurfacing."

Edward reached the front door ahead of him and held it open. Beau paused halfway through the frame.

"The door was unlocked?"

"No, I used the key from under the eave."

"You . . . you _spied_ on me?"

"I was curious about you. What else is there to do at night?"

Beau didn't know how to respond to that. Shaking his head, he led the way to the kitchen while Edward made himself comfortable at the table, fluidly settling down in one of the mismatched chairs. Beau watched him out of the corner of his eye. Edward was studying the yellow cabinets with his head tilted to one side, almost like a tourist in an art museum.

Beau concentrated on preparing his dinner. There was still a decent amount of last night's lasagna in the fridge. But despite his hunger, their previous conversation was not so easily forgotten. Beau studied the revolving plate though the microwave door.

"How often?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't turn around. "How often do you come here?"

"I come here almost every night."

"_What_?"

"You're interesting when you sleep." Edward spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."

"No!" Heat flooded his face. Beau knew he talked in his sleep; Renée teased him about it. He never thought it was something he needed to worry about here.

"Beau, hold on—"

Beau held up a shaking hand to stop him. "Listening to my conversation with Jessica, I get it, you warned me. The Googling? Fine—you were curious. Following me to Port Angeles saved my life so you can get a pass on that, too. But breaking into my house? Watching me sleep? Not okay, Edward. Not okay at all."

Edward had the decency to look ashamed. "Are you very angry with me?"

"Well, yeah!" Beau sputtered. His face was burning; he was humiliated. This was a _complete_ violation of his trust. There were many things to be embarrassed about—the sleep talking, the nightmares of Phoenix, the messy room—the messiness especially these days. Plus he was a guy . . . and . . . things happened in the morning. It was wrong.

Beau folded his arms and stared at the floor. He didn't know how to start on this issue. At once Edward was there, crowding him as he had done at the truck, but Beau stubbornly looked away.

"Don't be upset," Edward pleaded, taking Beau's chin in his hand, determined to be heard. "You miss your mother, and you worry about her. Sometimes you talk about your . . . injuries. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less often now. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. Once you said, 'It's too _green_.'"

"Anything else?"

Edward knew what he was really after. "You did say my name."

"A lot?"

"How much do you mean by 'a lot' exactly?"

"Oh no," Beau muttered. He wished he had the Mariners cap to pull over his eyes. This was all just too much to handle for one day. Too much vulnerability. But he didn't resist when Edward pulled him into his arms.

"Don't be self-conscious. If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."

They were so close, there, in Charlie's little kitchen. Beau looked at Edward, his inexperienced, benevolent stalker. He tried to understand where Edward was coming from.

Beau sighed. While misguided, strange, and wildly inappropriate, for someone with his abilities, it kind of made sense. Somehow.

The other boy smiled back as if he heard those last few thoughts. Then the air between them grew thick. Beau bent until their foreheads pressed together, lifting one hand to cup the nape of Edward's neck. He watched the eyelids come down over those golden eyes, when, abruptly, headlights flashed through the windows.

"Should your father know I'm here?" They were so close that Beau felt the words on his own lips.

"I'm not sure . . . " He faltered. His thoughts returned to the inevitable conversation he was supposed to have with Charlie. But the words didn't want to come. Not yet.

Edward seemed to understand. "Another time then . . . "

And then Beau was alone. "Edward?"

A ghostly chuckle lingered in the shadows, then nothing.

The key turned in the lock. "Beau?"

"In here," Beau called back. His eyes scanned the room for anything that might give them away—a stray jacket, a wallet . . . nothing. He turned back to the microwave in relief.

"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed."

Beau handed him the warm plate and went to the cupboard for a new one. He nuked a fresh piece of lasagna, poured them both a glass of milk, then joined his father at the table. Charlie thanked him and they dug in.

"How was your day?"

"Good. The fish were biting . . . how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"

"Not really—it was too nice out to say indoors."

"It was a nice day," Charlie agreed, watching his son chug what remained of the milk. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early."

"You look kinda keyed up," his father noted. Beau flushed. He doubted Charlie performed any serious interrogations at work—small town crime after all—but he wasn't _unobservant_. He noticed things. He noticed _him_.

"Do I?"

Beau carried their plates to the sink. Neither of them spoke as he rinsed, scrubbed, then placed the dishes upside down to dry.

"It's Saturday. No plans tonight?"

"No, I just want to get some sleep."

"None of the girls in town your type, eh?" Charlie was trying to play it cool. Beau almost laughed. _No, Dad, no _girls . . .

"No one has caught my eye yet."

"Not even the ones who brought us food? I thought maybe that Jessica Stanley . . . the one you went to Port Angeles with?"

"She's just a friend, Dad."

"Well, you're too good for them, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Beau agreed, turning for the stairs.

"Good night," Charlie called after him. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, perhaps waiting for Beau to try to sneak out. He wondered if the gossip reached Charlie. A flicker of guilt went through his belly. The news should really come from him.

"See you in the morning, Dad." _See you creeping in my room tonight to check on me._

Beau dragged his feet up the stairs then shut the bedroom door loud enough for the chief to hear. From there he crept to the window, threw it open, and leaned out into the night. His eyes scanned the darkness.

"Edward?" He felt like an idiot.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind him. "Yes?"

Beau whirled around, pulse racing, and found a smiling Edward on the bed with his arms crossed. He was the picture of ease—and the complete opposite of Beau.

"Oh," Beau breathed as he sank unsteadily onto the windowsill. The sight of Edward Cullen in his bed was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry."

"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."

Edward joined him at the window. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, listening to his heartbeat slow down.

"How's the heart?"

"You tell me—I'm sure you hear it better than I do."

Beau spoke again when their soft laughter subsided. "Can I have a minute to be human?"

"Certainly."

He tried to look severe. "Stay."

"Yes, sir," Edward grinned as he returned to the bed. It took everything Beau had to keep walking past him.

Beau slammed the bathroom door as loud as he could. He closed his eyes at the rush of hot water and let it relax his muscles. The familiar smell of the Irish Spring soap made him feel like he was the same person who used it this morning. He tried not to think of Edward waiting in his room—that would only delay him more.

Beau pulled on a Sun Devils t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He brushed his teeth quickly then dashed down the stairs so Charlie could see him ready for bed.

"Night, Dad."

"Night, Beau," Charlie said, startled. No doubt he expected him to be gone already. Charlie had even redressed in his uniform, boots and all, the gun belt hanging by the door. Maybe this reappearance would keep him from checking in tonight.

Edward hadn't moved a fraction of an inch. He looked like a carving of Adonis, but when Beau closed the door, the statue came to life.

"Nice," he said, eyes taking in the damp hair and tattered ASU lettering across his chest. "It looks good on you."

Beau grimaced as he moved to join him on the bed. The boys propped themselves up on their elbows, going quiet for a few minutes. He couldn't imagine going to sleep now. There was still so much to learn. He decided to start with an easy one.

"You fixed that window, didn't you?"

Edward sighed. "I did. I'm sorry about that. And I'm sorry about the watching, er, the stalking."

Beau smiled. "Thanks. You're forgiven."

"So what was all that about?"

"Charlie thinks I'm sneaking out."

"Oh." Edward contemplated this information. "Why?"

"Apparently, I look a little overexcited."

He lifted Beau's chin to examine his face more closely. "You look very warm, actually."

It was very difficult, while they were touching, for Beau to form a coherent question. It took him a minute of scattered concentration to begin.

"It seems to be . . . much easier for you, now, to be close to me."

"Does it seem that way to you?" Edward murmured. His lips touched the hollow of Beau's throat. Gentle pressure on his shoulder pushed him back into the mattress. Beau took an uneasy breath, staring at the ceiling.

"Much, much easier."

"Hmm."

"So I was wondering . . . " He lost his train of thought as Edward traced his collarbone.

"Yes?"

"Why is that," his voice shook, embarrassing him, "do you think?"

Edward laughed. "Mind over matter."

Beau pulled back. As he moved, Edward froze, not breathing. They stared cautiously at each other until Edward relaxed. Then his expression—what Beau could see of it, anyway—became puzzled.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No—the opposite. You're driving me crazy."

Edward sounded pleased. "Really?"

"Would you like a round of applause?"

"I'm just pleasantly surprised. In the last hundred years or so, I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with . . . in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it . . . at being with you . . . "

"But you're good at everything," Beau protested. "Except boundaries, I guess."

Edward shrugged, allowing that, and they both laughed quietly.

"But how can it be so easy now? This afternoon . . . "

"It's not _easy_," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still . . . undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

"Not unforgivable."

"Thank you," Edward smiled. "You see . . . I wasn't sure if I was strong enough . . . and while there was still that possibility that I might be . . . overcome . . . I was susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would . . . that I ever could . . . "

Beau had never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so . . . human. "So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," Edward repeated, smiling, his teeth bright in the darkness.

"Wow, that was easy."

"Easy for _you_!" he amended, touching Beau's nose with his fingertip. "I'm trying. If it gets to be . . . too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

Beau scowled. He didn't like the talk of leaving.

"And it will be harder tomorrow. I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go away, then," Beau said, unable to hide the longing in his voice.

"This suits me. Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner."

His hands formed manacles around Beau's wrists as he spoke. He let him, surprisingly titillated by the sensation of being trapped this way. Edward was still laughing a quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than Beau heard in all the time they spent together.

"You seem more . . . optimistic than usual," Beau said conversationally, as if he wasn't pinned down in the dark by a supernatural being. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" It sounded like Edward was smiling. "The glory of first love, and all that. You said the other night you were beginning to know me, and I think I'm beginning to know you, too."

Beau nodded, recalling the way they opened up for the first time. "That feeling of . . . someone seeing you. Who you really are."

"It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Very different," Beau agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."

"For example, the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me . . . do you remember the day Jessica asked you to the dance?"

Beau remembered it for a different reason. "That was the day you started talking to me again."

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused her. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I _tried_ not to care. And then the line started forming."

Beau scowled.

"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure. That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was _right_, moral, ethical, and what I _wanted_. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Jessica. It made me angry."

Beau wanted to laugh, but he heard the pain in Edward's voice, and tried a kinder approach. "But I wouldn't say yes to Jessica. Ever. You just couldn't be . . . sure. Not about me. Or yourself."

"Yes," Edward whispered. "But then, as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer. But jealousy . . . it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about Jessica . . . "

"I should have known you'd be listening."

"Of course."

"_That _made you jealous, though, really?"

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me. Everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

"But honestly, for that to bother you, after I hear Carlisle was collecting companions . . . how can I compete with that? Someone like you?"

"There's no competition." Edward's teeth gleamed as he grinned. He drew Beau's trapped hands around his back, holding him close to his chest. Beau kept as still as he could, even breathing with caution.

"I _know_ there's no competition. That's the problem."

"For almost ninety years I've walked among my kind, and yours . . . all the time thinking I was complete in myself, not realizing what I was seeking. And not finding anything, because you weren't alive yet."

"It hardly seems fair," Beau whispered, his face still resting on Edward's chest, listening to their breathing. "I haven't had to wait at all. Why should I get off so easily?"

"You're right," Edward agreed with amusement. "I should make this harder for you, definitely. You've only experienced a great deal of trauma for one lifetime, risking your life every second you spend with me, that's surely not much. You only have to turn your back on nature, on humanity . . . what's that worth?"

"Very little—I don't feel deprived of anything yet."

"Not yet." His voice held ancient grief. Beau tried to pull away, to look at his eyes, but his wrists were still locked in an unbreakable hold.

"What—" Beau started to ask, but suddenly his hands were free, and Edward was gone.

"Lie down!" The order seemed to come from nowhere.

Beau rolled under the quilt and turned on his side, the way he normally slept. The door cracked open. A long minute passed, Charlie studying him, evidently deciding Beau really was where he was supposed to be.

Then Edward's cool arm was around him again. "You're a terrible actor—I'd say that career path is out for you."

"Damn."

Edward hummed a melody Beau didn't recognize; it sounded like a lullaby. Then he paused. "Should I sing you to sleep?"

"Right, like I could sleep with you here."

"You do it all the time," Edward reminded him.

"But I didn't _know_ you were here."

"So if you don't want to sleep . . ."

Beau fought against the telltale surge of blood rushing past his waist. "If I don't want to sleep . . . ?"

That made Edward chuckle. "What do you want to do then?"

Beau couldn't answer at first. "I'm not sure."

"Tell me when you decide."

Beau felt the cool, intoxicating breath on his neck. "I thought you were desensitized."

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," Edward whispered. "You have a very floral smell, like lavender . . . or freesia. It's mouthwatering."

"Freesia?" he repeated. "Not that soap I like?"

"No."

"Well . . . it's an off day when I don't get _somebody_ telling me how edible I smell."

Edward chuckled.

"I've decided what I want to do," Beau told him. "I want to hear more about you."

"Ask me anything."

"Why do you do it? I still don't understand how you can work so hard to resist what you . . . _are_. Please don't misunderstand, of course I'm glad you do. I just don't see why you would bother in the first place."

"That's a good question, and you're not the first to ask it. The others—the majority of our kind who are quite content with our lot—they, too, wonder at how we live. But you see, just because we've been . . . dealt a certain hand . . . it doesn't mean that we can't choose to rise above—to conquer the boundaries of a destiny that none of us wanted. To try to retain whatever essential humanity we can."

"Did you fall asleep?" Edward asked, when Beau didn't answer for some time.

"No."

"Is that all you were curious about?"

"Not quite."

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why can you read minds—why only you? And Alice, seeing the future . . . why does that happen?"

Beau felt him shrug. "We don't really know. Carlisle has a theory . . . he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."

"What did he bring into the next life, and the others?"

"Carlisle brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her . . . tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness." Edward chuckled. "Jasper is very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he is able to manipulate the emotions of those around him—calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd, conversely. It's a very subtle gift."

Not only was it an adjustment to become supernatural, it _definitely_ had to be an adjustment to start this new life with abilities. Abilities Beau couldn't begin to understand. Edward had said that he went through trauma, but seemed to not include himself as a victim of it, either.

"So where did it all start? I mean, Carlisle changed you, and then someone must have changed him, and so on . . . "

"Well, where did you come from? Evolution? Creation? Couldn't we have evolved in the same way as other species, predator and prey? Or, if you don't believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, is it so hard to believe that the same force that created the delicate angelfish with the shark, the baby seal and the killer whale, could create both our kinds together?"

"Let me get this straight—I'm the baby seal, right?"

"Right."

Beau wanted to kiss him again, but he had to be good, not wanting to make it more difficult for Edward than it already was.

"Are you ready to sleep? Or do you have any more questions?"

"Only a million or two."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next . . . " Edward reminded him. Beau smiled, euphoric at the thought.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning? You are mythical, after all."

"I won't leave you," he promised, then, when he felt the warmth on Beau's face, went on, "What is it—another question?"

"No, forget it. I changed my mind."

"Beau, you can ask me anything."

When he didn't reply, Edward groaned.

"I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts. But it just gets worse and _worse_."

"I'm glad you can't hear my thoughts," Beau argued. "It's bad enough you've been stalking me."

"Please?" His voice was impossible to resist. "If you don't tell me, I'll just assume it's something worse than it is."

"Well . . . you said Rosalie and Emmett will get married soon . . . is that . . . marriage . . . the same as it is for humans?"

Edward laughed in earnest now, but it was soft, understanding. "Are you talking about sex, Beau? Don't you humans wait until the third date to broach this topic?"

"God, you make it sound so cavalier," Beau mumbled, mortified now. "I wouldn't know, anyway. And I thought you were trying to be the good doctor."

"Well, I do have two medical degrees, so I think I can discuss sex in some regard—"

"You're a _double_ doctor?"

Edward shrugged. "Have to fill the nights somehow. Aside from watching humans sleep, I guess."

When Beau didn't answer, an icy hand skimmed along his cheek. "To answer your question, yes, I suppose it is much the same. I told you, most of those human desires are there, just hidden behind more powerful desires."

"Oh," was all Beau could say.

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

"Well," Beau hesitated. "I did wonder . . . about you and me . . . someday . . . "

"I don't think . . . that would be possible for us."

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that . . . close?"

"That's certainly a problem. But that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you're so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Beau, simply by accident. If I was too hasty . . . if for one second I wasn't paying enough attention, I could reach out, meaning to touch your face, and crush your skull by mistake. You don't realize how incredibly _breakable_ you are. I can never, never afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

He waited for Beau to respond, growing anxious when he did not. "Are you scared?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I'm curious now, though," Edward said. "Have _you_ ever…?"

"Of course not. I told you I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

"I know, it's just that I hear other people's thoughts. I know love and lust don't always keep the same company."

"They do for me. Now, anyway, that they exist for me at all."

"That's nice." Edward sounded satisfied. "We have that one thing in common, at least."

"Your human instincts . . . " Beau began, blushing again. "Well, do you find me attractive, in _that_ way? At all?"

"I may not be a human, but I am a man," Edward assured him. "I've answered your questions, now you should sleep."

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" Beau said too loudly.

He laughed, then shifted so they were more conventionally spooning. Beau relaxed at the weight of the marble arm over his hip. At the start of the day, Beau had no idea it would end with him cuddling against a vampire, but he was elated by this turn of events.

Edward began to hum the same, unfamiliar lullaby; the voice of an archangel, soft in his ear.

More tired than he realized, exhausted from the long day of mental and emotional stress, Beau drifted to sleep in his cold arms.

* * *

**A/N**: Saddened beyond words to report the loss of my grandmother due to COVID-19. Thank you all for your wonderful responses to this story; it's truly one of the only things making me happy these days.

Stay safe, everyone. Take it from me - this thing is shattering families around the world. Wash your hands, wear a mask, and look after one another.


	14. The Cullens

The muted light of another cloudy day woke him. Beau stretched, groggy, and tried to remember the dream he had. Something important was struggling to break through his consciousness. He moaned, rolled over, and hoped more sleep would come.

Then the previous day broke though. Everything came flooding back—the meadow, the glitter of diamonds, and of course, Edward.

"Oh!" Beau sat up so fast his head spun.

An unruffled voice came from the rocking chair in the corner. "Your hair looks like a haystack . . . but I like it."

"Edward! You stayed!" Beau threw himself across the room and into his lap. Then the rocking chair groaned under their combined weight. By the time thoughts caught up with actions, he froze, shocked by his own uncontrolled enthusiasm.

Edward laughed, startled, but also pleased by this reaction. "Of course."

"I was sure it was a dream."

"You're not that creative," Edward scoffed, his cold hand moving up and down Beau's back. "Your father left about an hour ago, by the way, after reattaching your battery cables. I have to admit I was disappointed. Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

Beau couldn't answer for a few seconds. It only occurred to him now that he might be dealing with rank morning breath.

"You're not usually this confused in the morning."

"I need another human minute," Beau admitted.

"I'll wait."

Beau saw a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and found a stranger staring back. The eyes were too bright, cheeks too red, hair standing straight up in the air. He worked to make himself resemble the fetching human being that Edward was interested in and hurried back to his room. When he returned, Edward was still in the rocking chair, his arms open and waiting.

Beau, feeling a little ridiculous now, climbed back into his lap. He was sure he looked like an overgrown baby. But as Edward rocked the chair, it felt kind of nice to curl up and relax. Then he realized something.

"You left?"

"I could hardly leave in the clothes I came in—what would the neighbors think? Besides, you were very deeply asleep; I didn't miss anything. The talking came earlier."

Beau groaned. "What did you hear?"

His gold eyes grew very soft. "You said you loved me."

"You knew that already," Beau reminded him.

"It was nice to hear, just the same."

Beau studied the collar of the fresh shirt before dragging his eyes upward. "I love you."

"You are my life now," he answered simply.

There was nothing more to say for the moment. They rocked back and forth as the room grew lighter.

"Breakfast time," Edward said eventually. He seemed reluctant to let him go.

Beau sprang out of the chair and clutched his throat with both hands. Edward looked shocked.

"Kidding!" Beau snickered. "And you said I couldn't act!"

"That wasn't funny."

"It was very funny and you know it."

"Shall I rephrase?" Edward sighed. "Breakfast time for the human."

"Oh, okay."

Edward threw him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Beau yelped in protest until he was placed in one of the mismatched chairs in the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast?"

That threw Edward for a minute. "Er, I'm not sure. What would you like?"

"That's all right," Beau said, hopping up from the chair. "Watch me hunt."

He found a bowl and filled it with his usual breakfast cereal. "Can I get you anything?"

"Just eat, Beau."

Beau sat across from him as he ate. Edward was studying every movement so closely that he was beginning to feel like a zoo animal.

"What's on the agenda for today?"

"What would you say to meeting my family?"

Beau almost choked on his cornflakes.

"Are you afraid now?"

"Yes," he admitted. There was no use in denying it.

"Don't worry," Edward smirked. "I'll protect you."

"I'm not afraid of _them_," Beau explained. "I'm afraid they won't . . . like me. Won't they be, well, _surprised_ that you'd bring a human home to meet them? Do they know that I know about them?"

"Oh, they already know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know"—he smiled, but his voice was harsh—"on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible with my mind reading and Alice seeing the future and all that."

Beau lowered his gaze to the bowl. The Cullens were mythical beings—they shouldn't exist at all—and yet, there were no secrets between them. Beau envied that openness and wondered if he and Charlie would ever get to that level. Though, he supposed, one couldn't help but be open with a telepath and a psychic in the house.

"And Jasper," he said at last. "Making you feel all warm and fuzzy about spilling your guts, don't forget that."

"You paid attention," Edward smiled approvingly.

"I've been known to do that every now and then. So did Alice see me coming?"

Edward looked uncomfortable. "Something like that."

Beau was curious about this reaction, but decided to ask another, more pressing question. "So . . . they're okay with it? You know . . . the gay thing?"

"Of course," Edward shrugged. "They're my family. They just want me to be happy."

Something must have shown in his eyes, because Edward went on, "Look, when you live as long as we do . . . preference doesn't mean much. If the gay community and vampires have anything in common, it's being ostracized from society. I already knew it was something they thought about me. Why I never found a . . . mate. It was never a conversation we had . . . it just happened. I . . . I didn't know."

"Until me," Beau said quietly. This made Edward smile.

"Until you, yes. When . . . when did you know? That you preferred men?"

It was a question he didn't get to this week, Beau realized, or simply avoided altogether. A swell of sympathy rose in his chest. He already accepted who he was; Edward had to come to terms with years of denial in a short amount of time. Both boys were going through a tremendous upheaval.

"I think I always knew."

"I don't remember much from my human life," Edward mused. "If I ever desired someone . . . I would have repressed it. The treatment of Oscar Wilde was a powerful deterrent for many years after he died. It was a dangerous time."

It was dangerous today. How sad it must have been for Edward to hear about what happened in Phoenix, and know, despite years of social and cultural progress, some humans still had not changed.

"So you never met anyone you wanted?"

Edward quirked a smile. "Not in Chicago."

They grinned at each other. The silence became a comfortable, contented quiet. For a long time nothing broke the spell.

Then Edward made a face at the cereal. "Is that any good? Honestly, it doesn't look very appetizing."

"Well, it's no irritable grizzly."

Edward snorted and turned to gaze out the window until Beau finished his breakfast. Once the bowl was clean and put away, Edward spoke again.

"You should introduce me to your father."

"He already knows you."

"As your boyfriend, I mean."

Beau stared at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Isn't that customary?"

"I don't know," Beau admitted. His dating history gave him few reference points to work with. No normal rules of dating applied here. "That's not necessary, you know. I don't expect you to . . . I mean, you don't have to pretend for me."

"I'm not pretending."

Beau looked for something to do until he remembered his chore was complete. No matter how much he fidgeted, the words still hung in the air, waiting.

Edward sat watching his struggle with growing impatience. "Are you going to tell Charlie I'm your boyfriend or not?"

"Is that what you are?"

"It's a loose interpretation of the word 'boy,' I'll admit."

Beau looked away. "I was under the impression that you were something more, actually."

"Well, I don't know if we need to give him all the gory details." Edward reached across the table to lift his chin. "But we will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan getting a restraining order put on me."

"Will you be?" he asked. "Will you really be here?"

"As long as you want me."

"I'll always want you," Beau warned him, trapping the cool hand against his face. "Forever."

They sat like that for a long time. But Beau had to break the silence—he had to know.

"Does that make you sad?"

"Are you finished?" Edward said at long last.

He jumped up. "Yes."

"Get dressed—I'll wait here."

It was hard to decide what to wear. He doubted there were any etiquette books detailing how to dress to meet your vampire sweetheart's vampire family.

Beau found the nice shirt he wore to Phil and Renée's wedding. It was a navy blue that he realized, grinning, matched his Mariners cap exactly. He buttoned the shirt, stepped into a pair of chinos, pairing them both with a tan belt. Finally he smoothed his hair in the mirror.

He turned to water his plants, and, after a moment of thought, took the pot containing the rosette succulent. The cactus, his desert love, could stay put.

"Okay. I'm decent."

Edward was waiting at the foot of the stairs, closer than he thought, and Beau bounded right into him.

"Wrong again, you're utterly indecent. No one should look so tempting, it's not fair."

"Tempting how?" Beau asked. "I can change . . . should I iron my pants? Are they wrinkled?"

"You are _so_ absurd. Shall I explain how you are tempting me?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question. The cold hand smoothed down his chest until it hit the belt buckle. His hand curled around the buckle and used it to tug Beau forward. Edward touched his lips to his for the second time, very carefully, parting them slightly.

Then Beau staggered. He clutched the succulent to his chest, prepared to let himself hit the floor before it did.

"Beau?" Edward's voice was alarmed as he held him up. Neither he nor the plant suffered any harm.

"You made me faint," Beau accused him dizzily.

"What am I going to do with you?" Edward groaned in exasperation. "Yesterday I kiss you, and you attack me! Today you pass out on me! So much for being good at everything."

"That's the problem. You're _too_ good. Far too good."

"Do you feel sick?"

"No—that wasn't the same kind of fainting at all. I don't know what happened." Beau shook his head apologetically. "I think I forgot to breathe."

"I can't take you anywhere like this."

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Your family is going to think I'm insane anyway, what's the difference?"

Edward studied his expression for a moment. "I'm very partial to that color on your skin."

Beau flushed. "Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do, so can we go already?"

"And you're worried, not because you're headed to meet a houseful of vampires, but because you think those vampires won't approve of you, correct?"

"That's right."

Edward shook his head. "You're incredible."

Beau realized, as they drove out of the main part of town, that he had no idea where Edward lived. They passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, houses growing bigger and further apart. One turn led them through misty forest to an unpaved and unmarked road. The woods thinned and a white house rose out of them, three stories tall, and, Beau assumed, over a hundred years old.

"Wow."

"You like it?"

"It . . . has a certain charm."

Edward chuckled. "Ready?"

"Not even a little bit—let's go." Beau tried to laugh, but it seemed to get stuck in his throat. He smoothed his hair nervously.

"You look lovely." Edward took his hand easily, without thinking about it. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into the back of it, no doubt sensing the tension.

The inside of the house was very bright. His eyes took in the architectural details almost hungrily—the open floor plan, the south-facing wall made entirely of glass, and the massive, curving staircase.

Waiting to greet them, standing just left of the door by a spectacular grand piano, were Edward's parents.

Beau had seen Dr. Cullen before, but he couldn't help but be struck again by his youth, his outrageous perfection. At his side had to be Esme, the only Cullen he had yet to meet. She was slender, smaller than the others, pale, and lovely. The two smiled in welcome but stayed put until the pair approached.

"Carlisle, Esme, this is Beau."

"You're very welcome, Beau," Carlisle took a measured step forward. Beau took his waiting hand and shook it, firmly, like his own father taught him.

"It's nice to see you again, Dr. Cullen."

"Please, call me Carlisle." The doctor looked younger without his labcoat, more relaxed. They were a long way away from the human charade now.

"Carlisle, then," Beau grinned. He was surprised by his own sudden confidence. Beau shook hands with Esme next, who held fast, grasping his hand delicately in hers.

"It's very nice to know you."

"Thank you, I'm glad to meet you, too," Beau told her, then presented the rosette succulent, which thankfully survived the bumpy ride to the house. "Edward told me you like to garden, so I brought you this. It's from Phoenix."

Esme smiled so broadly that even the doctor looked dazzled. It was like seeing Snow White in the flesh.

"Thank you, dear," she beamed. "That's very kind. I have the perfect place for it."

Edward cleared his throat. "Where are Alice and Jasper?"

No one answered because suddenly they were there. "Hey, Edward!"

Alice ran down the stairs in a flash of black and white. She came to a graceful stop in front of Beau and ignored the warning glances from her parents. Her smile was broad and sincere.

"Hi again, Beau!" Alice stood on tiptoe; he bent obediently so she could kiss his cheek. He blushed at her obvious affection, but it pleased him, the approval. Edward stiffened at his side. Beau glanced at him and found his expression unreadable.

"You do smell nice, I never noticed before," she commented.

Beau was embarrassed. "So I hear."

No one seemed to know quite what to say, and then Jasper was there, tall and leonine. Beau soon recognized a distinct feeling of ease. It spread through his chest, warm and comfortable, as if he was sitting in front of a fireplace. Edward was staring at Jasper with one eyebrow raised, and by then Beau remembered what Jasper could do.

"Hello, Beau."

"Hello, Jasper," he answered shyly. "It's nice to meet you all—you have a very beautiful home."

"Thank you," Esme said. "We're so glad that you came."

Beau could tell she meant it. Then he realized that Rosalie and Emmett were nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed on Carlisle, who was gazing meaningfully at Edward, an intense expression on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward nod once. Beau looked away, trying to be polite, and found himself studying the piano.

When Beau was a kid, he decided that if he won the lottery, the first thing he would buy for his mother was a grand piano. Renée wasn't very good—she only played for the two of them—but Beau loved to watch her at the keys.

"Do you play?" Esme asked, noticing his preoccupation.

"Not at all. But it's so beautiful. Is it yours?"

"No," she laughed. "Edward didn't tell you he was musical?"

"No, but I should have known, I guess."

Esme looked confused, so he added, "Edward can do everything, right?"

Jasper snickered as Esme gave Edward a reproving look. "I hope you haven't been showing off—it's rude."

"Just a bit," Edward laughed. Her scolding face softened at the sound. They shared a look that Beau didn't understand.

"He's been too modest, actually," Beau said.

"Well, play for him."

"You just said showing off was rude," he reminded her.

"There are exceptions to every rule," Esme said, turning to Beau, who understood her intent at once.

"_I'd_ like to hear you play."

"It's settled then." Esme pushed them both in the direction of the piano. Edward threw him an exasperated look before he began.

And then his fingers flowed swiftly across the ivory keys. The room filled with a composition so complex, so luxuriant, it was impossible to believe only one set of hands played. Beau felt his jaw drop in astonishment. The family chuckled at his reaction.

Edward looked sideways at him, the music still surging without a break, and winked. "Do you like it?"

"You wrote this?"

"It's Esme's favorite."

The music slowed, transforming into something softer, and to his surprise he recognized the melody of that lullaby from the night before.

"You inspired this one," Edward said softly. The music grew unbearably sweet. Beau couldn't speak. He only sat, hands pressed to his chinos, awed.

"They like you, you know. Esme especially."

Beau glanced over his shoulder, but the huge room was empty now. "Where did they go?"

"Very subtly giving us some privacy, I suppose."

"_They _like me," Beau sighed. "But Rosalie and Emmett . . . "

"Don't worry about Rosalie. She'll come around."

"Emmett?"

"Well, he thinks _I'm_ a lunatic, it's true, but he doesn't have a problem with you. He's trying to reason with Rosalie."

"What is it that upsets her?" Beau wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Edward sighed deeply. "Rosalie struggles the most with . . . with what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous."

"Rosalie is jealous of me?" Beau asked, incredulous. He couldn't fathom why.

"You're human." Edward shrugged. "She wishes that she were, too."

"Oh. Even Jasper, though . . . "

"That's really my fault. I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life. I warned him to keep his distance."

"Esme and Carlisle?"

"Are happy to see me happy," Edward smiled. "Actually, Esme wouldn't care if you had a third eye and webbed feet. All this time she's been worried about me, afraid that there was something missing from my essential makeup, that I was too young when Carlisle changed me . . . She's ecstatic. Every time I touch you, she just about chokes with satisfaction."

The idea of her loving him that much touched Beau more than he could explain. Beau realized then that this morning's anxiety wasn't about the Cullens at all—it was about Charlie. He wanted his father to accept him the same way the Cullens accepted Edward. Beau cleared his throat at the sudden burst of emotions.

"Alice seems very . . . enthusiastic."

"Alice has her own way of looking at things."

"And you're not going to explain that, are you?"

A moment of wordless communication passed between them. Edward realized that Beau knew he was keeping something from him. Beau realized Edward wasn't going to give anything away. Not now.

"So what was Carlisle telling you before?"

His eyebrows pulled together. "You noticed that, did you?"

Beau shrugged. "Of course."

Edward looked at him thoughtfully for a few more seconds before answering. "He wanted to tell me some news—he didn't know if it was something I would share with you."

"Will you?"

"I have to, because I'm going to be a little . . . overbearingly protective over the next few days . . . or weeks. I wouldn't want you to think I'm naturally a tyrant."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."

"Visitors?" Beau repeated.

"Yes . . . well, they aren't like us, of course—in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."

Beau shivered.

"Finally, a rational response! I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all."

Beau let that one pass. He looked away, eager to distract himself, eyes moving around the spacious room. Edward watched him take it all in.

"Not what you expected, is it?"

"No," Beau admitted.

"No coffins, no piled skulls in the corners; I don't even think we have cobwebs . . . what a disappointment this must be for you," Edward continued slyly.

Beau ignored the teasing. "It's so light . . . so open."

"It's the one place we never have to hide."

The song he was still playing, Beau's song, drifted to an end, the final chords shifting to a more melancholy key. The last note hovered poignantly in the silence.

"Thank you," Beau murmured. He realized there were tears in his eyes. Edward touched the corner of his eye, trapping one tear he missed, and examined the moisture broodingly. Then he put his finger in his mouth to taste it. Beau made a face.

"Did I mention the stalking?"

"Yes, quite right. Sorry. Do you want to see the rest of the house?"

"No coffins?"

Edward laughed, took his hand, and led him away from the piano. "No coffins."

They moved to the second floor, passing Rosalie and Emmett's room, Carlisle's office, and Alice's room. Edward would have continued, but Beau stopped dead at the end of the hall, staring incredulously at the ornament hanging above his head.

"You can laugh," Edward chuckled. "It _is_ sort of ironic."

Beau didn't laugh. He raised one hand as if to touch the large wooden cross but held back. He was curious if the aged wood was as silky as it looked.

"It must be very old."

"Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

"Why do you keep this here?"

Edward shrugged. "Nostalgia. It belonged to Charlie's father."

"Did he collect antiques?"

"No. He carved it himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

Beau quickly did the mental math. The cross was nearly four hundred years old. The silence stretched on as he struggled to wrap his mind around the concept of so many years.

"Are you all right?"

"How old is Carlisle?" Beau asked quietly.

"He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday," Edward answered. "Carlisle was born in London, in the sixteen-forties, he believes. Time wasn't marked as accurately back then."

Beau listened to the story unfold with rapt attention. Carlisle was the son of an Anglican pastor, an intolerant man, who led hunts for supernatural creatures. The son was cleverer than the father and discovered a coven of true vampires living in the city. He chased an old one, a weak one, who then became his sire.

"Carlisle knew what his father would do. The bodies would be burned—anything infected by the monster must be destroyed. Carlisle acted instinctively to save his own life and hid in a cellar for three days. It's a miracle he was able to keep silent and stay undiscovered. Then he realized what he had become."

Beau wasn't sure what his face was revealed, but Edward suddenly broke off. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Beau assured him.

He smiled. "I expect you have a few more questions for me."

"Only a million or two," Beau said, echoing his own words from the night before.

Edward's smile widened over his brilliant teeth. He started back down the hall, pulling Beau along by the hand.

"Come on, then," he encouraged. "I'll show you."

* * *

Edward led him back to the door he marked as Carlisle's office. They stood outside for a few seconds before Carlisle's voice invited them in.

The office had tall ceilings, west-facing windows, and bookshelves so high Beau had to crane his neck to see them all. There were more books in this room than he'd ever seen outside a library. His mother would have been thrilled to see it.

Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He placed a bookmark in the pages of a thick volume, looking very much like a college dean, but far too young to fit the part.

"What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to show Beau some of our history," Edward said. "Well, your history, actually."

"We didn't mean to disturb you," Beau apologized, his gaze darting between Carlisle and the volume he held. He always hated being interrupted while immersed in a good book.

"Not at all. Where are you going to start?"

"The Waggoner," Edward replied, guiding Beau to the wall beside the door they came through. Every time they touched, even in the most casual way, his heart had an audible reaction. It was even more embarrassing with Carlisle there.

A small oil painting hung in a wooden frame. It depicted a miniature city full of steeply slanted roofs, thin towers, and a wide river in the foreground.

"London in the sixteen-fifties."

"The London of my youth," Carlisle added.

"Will _you_ tell the story?" Edward asked.

Carlisle met Beau's eyes and smiled. "I would, but I'm actually running a bit late. The hospital called this morning—Dr. Snow is taking a sick day. Besides, you know the stories as well as I do."

It was a strange conversation to absorb—the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion of his early days in seventeenth-century London. It was also unsettling to know that Carlisle spoke aloud only for Beau's benefit.

After another warm smile for Beau, Carlisle left the room.

"What happened then?" Beau asked. "When he realized what had happened to him?"

Edward glanced back at the paintings. "When Carlisle knew what he had become, he rebelled against it. He tried to destroy himself. But that's not easily done."

"How?"

"He jumped from great heights," Edward told him. "He tried to drown himself in the ocean . . . but he was young to the new life, and very strong. It is amazing that he was able to resist . . . feeding . . . while he was still so new. The instinct is more powerful then, it takes over everything. But he was so repelled by himself that he had the strength to try to kill himself with starvation."

Beau heard the tremor in his own voice. "Is that possible?"

"No, there are very few ways we can be killed. Carlisle became very hungry. He grew weaker. He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, recognizing that his willpower was weakening, too. For months he wandered by night, seeking the loneliest places, loathing himself. One night, a herd of deer passed his hiding place. He was so wild with thirst he attacked without a thought. His strength returned and he realized there was an alternative to being the vile monster he feared. Over the next few months his new philosophy was born. He could exist without being a demon. Carlisle found himself again. He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent, eager to learn. Now he had unlimited time before him. He studied by night, planned by day. He swam to France and—"

"He _swam_ to France?"

"People swim the Channel all the time, Beau."

"That's true, I guess," he conceded. "It just sounded funny in the context. Go on."

"Swimming is easy for us—"

"Everything is easy for _you_," he corrected, watching the amusement flicker in Edward's eyes. "I won't interrupt again, I promise."

"—because, technically, we don't need to breathe."

"You—"

"No, no, you promised," Edward put a cold finger to his lips. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

He moved his hand to Beau's neck, smiling slightly, when he detected the blood under the skin speeding up in response.

"You don't have to _breathe_?"

"No, it's not necessary. Just a habit."

"How long can you go . . . without breathing?"

"Indefinitely, I suppose," Edward mused. "I don't know. It gets a bit uncomfortable—being without a sense of smell."

"A bit uncomfortable," Beau echoed.

Edward grew somber at his words. The hand on his neck dropped. The silence continued indefinitely.

"What is it?" Beau whispered, touching the lovely, marble face.

Edward softened at the touch, sighing. "I keep waiting for it to happen."

"For what to happen?"

"I know that at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you'll run away from me, screaming as you go." He smiled half a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I won't stop you. I want this to happen, because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you. The two desires are impossible to reconcile . . . " He trailed off. Waiting.

"I'm not running anywhere," Beau promised.

"We'll see."

"So go on—Carlisle was swimming in France."

Edward paused, getting back into his story. Reflexively, his eyes flickered to another picture—the most colorful of them all, the most ornately framed, and the largest; it was twice as wide as the door it hung next to. The canvas overflowed with bright figures in swirling robes, writhing around long pillars and off marbled balconies. Beau couldn't tell if it represented Greek mythology, or if the characters floating in the clouds above were meant to be biblical.

"Carlisle swam to France, and continued on through Europe, to the universities there. By night he studied music, science, medicine—and found his calling, his penance, in that, in saving human lives." Edward's expression became awed, almost reverent. "I can't adequately describe the struggle; it took Carlisle two centuries of torturous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he is all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he is able to do the work he loves without agony. He finds a great deal of peace there, at the hospital . . . "

Edward stared off for a long moment. Then he seemed to recall his purpose. He tapped his finger against the huge painting in front of us.

"He was studying in Italy when he discovered the others there. They were much more civilized and educated than the wraiths of the London sewers."

He touched a comparatively sedate quartet of figures painted on the highest balcony, looking down calmly on the mayhem below them. Beau examined the grouping carefully and realized, with a startled laugh, that he recognized the golden-haired man.

"Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as gods. Aro, Marcus, Caius," he chuckled, indicating the other three figures. Two were black-haired, and the last was snowy-white. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."

"What happened to them?"

"They're still there." Edward shrugged. "As they have been for who knows how many millennia. Carlisle stayed with them only for a short time, just a few decades. He greatly admired their civility, their refinement, but they persisted in trying to cure his aversion to 'his natural food source,' as they called it. They tried to persuade him, and he tried to persuade them, to no avail. At that point, Carlisle decided to try the New World. He dreamed of finding others like himself. He was very lonely, you see.

"He didn't find anyone for a long time. But, as monsters became the stuff of fairy tales, he found he could interact with unsuspecting humans as if he were one of them. He began practicing medicine. But the companionship he craved evaded him; he couldn't risk familiarity.

"When the influenza epidemic hit, he was working nights in a hospital in Chicago. He'd been turning over an idea in his mind for several years, and he had almost decided to act—since he couldn't find a companion, he would create one. He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his had been stolen. It was in that frame of mind that he found me. There was no hope for me; I was left in a ward with the dying. He had nursed my parents, and knew I was alone. He decided to try . . . "

Edward's voice trailed off. He stared unseeingly though the west windows. Beau waited quietly.

"And so we've come full circle," Edward concluded.

"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?"

"Almost always." Edward put a hand on his waist and walked them both toward the hallway. Beau glanced back at the wall of pictures, wondering if one day he might get to hear the other stories.

"Almost?"

Edward seemed reluctant to answer. "Well, I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence—about ten years after I was . . . born . . . created, whatever you want to call it. I wasn't sold on his life of abstinence, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a time."

"Really?" Beau was intrigued, rather than frightened, as perhaps he should have been.

"That doesn't repulse you?"

"No?"

"Why not?"

"I guess . . . it sounds reasonable."

Edward barked a laugh. "From the time of my new birth, I had the advantage of knowing what everyone around me was thinking, both human and non-human alike. That's why it took me ten years to defy Carlisle—I could read his perfect sincerity, understand exactly why he lived the way he did. It took me only a few years to return to Carlisle and recommit to his vision. I thought I would be exempt from the . . . depression . . . that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. If I followed a murderer down a dark alley where he stalked a young girl—if I saved her, then surely I wasn't so terrible."

Beau shivered, imagining only too clearly what he described—the alley at night, the frightened victim, the dark man hunting. And Edward, Edward as he hunted, terrible and glorious as a young god, unstoppable. Would she have been grateful, that girl, or more frightened than before?

"But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified. So I went back to Carlisle and Esme. They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved."

They came to a stop at the last door in the hall.

"This is my room."

Edward's room faced the south. A wall-sized window looked down on the winding Sol Duc River, across the untouched forest to the Olympic Mountain range.

The western wall was completely covered with shelf after shelf of CDs. In the corner was a sophisticated-looking sound system, the kind Beau was afraid to touch because he was sure he'd break something. There was no bed, only a wide and inviting black leather sofa. The floor was covered with a thick golden carpet, and the walls were hung with heavy fabric in a slightly darker shade.

"Good acoustics?"

Edward chuckled and picked up a remote to turn on the stereo. A soft jazz number started up as Beau went to study the music collection.

"How do you have these organized?"

"Um, by year, and then by personal preference within that frame," Edward said absently.

Beau turned and found him staring with a peculiar expression. "What?"

"I was prepared to feel . . . relieved. Having you know about everything, not needing to keep secrets from you. But I didn't expect to feel more than that. I _like_ it. It makes me . . . happy."

"I'm glad," Beau told him. He was worried that Edward might regret telling him these things. It was good to know that wasn't true. "But . . . you're still waiting for the running and screaming, aren't you?"

Edward nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. Beau shook his head.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually."

Edward raised his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide, wicked smile.

"You _really_ shouldn't have said that."

He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed like a lion about to bounce. Beau backed away from him and glared.

"You wouldn't."

Beau didn't see him leap—it was much too fast. He found himself suddenly airborne. The two boys crashed into the sofa and knocked it into the wall. All the while, Beau was locked safely in an iron cage of Edward's arms, barely jostled by the motion. But he was still gasping as he tried to right himself.

Edward wasn't having that. He curled him against his chest, an exact mirror of the way they—well, he—slept the night before. Beau glared at the floor, knowing Edward was smirking, even though he couldn't see him.

The cool breath tickled his ear as Edward spoke. "You were saying?"

"That you are a very, very, terrifying monster," Beau said sarcastically.

"Much better."

"Um," Beau struggled. "Can I get up now?"

Edward just laughed.

"Can we come in?"

He continued to struggle, but Edward merely righted them, shifting until Beau was sitting more conventionally in his lap.

"Go ahead."

Alice and Jasper joined them. Alice seemed to find nothing unusual about their embrace—she walked to the center of the room and folded herself sinuously on the floor. Jasper, however, paused at the door, his expression full of shock. He stared at Edward, no doubt scanning the atmosphere with his unusual sensitivity.

"It sounded like you were having Beau for lunch, and we came to see if you would share."

Beau felt his eyes bulge at Alice's words until he noticed Edward was grinning—from her comment or Beau's response, he couldn't tell.

"Sorry," Edward answered, tightening his grip around Beau's waist. "I don't believe I have enough to spare."

"Actually," Jasper said, now smiling despite himself, "Alice says there's going to be a real storm tonight, and Emmett wants to play ball. Are you game?"

"Of course you should bring Beau," Alice chirped as Edward considered these words. "I hear you have a wicked curveball."

Beau brightened at the compliment. Edward turned to him in excitement. "Do you want to go?"

"Sure," Beau said, knowing he could never refuse that face. "Um, where are we going?"

"We have to wait for thunder to play ball—you'll see why."

"Will I need an umbrella?"

All three vampires laughed aloud. "Will he?"

"No." Alice was positive. "The storm will hit over town. It should be dry enough in the clearing."

"Good, then." The enthusiasm in Jasper's voice was catching.

"Let's go see if Carlisle will come."

"Like you don't know," Jasper teased, and then he and Alice were swiftly on their way. He managed to inconspicuously close the door behind them.

"What will we be playing?"

"Baseball, of course," Edward replied, studying him. "_You_ will be watching most of it."

Beau raised his eyebrows. "Vampires like baseball? Is that normal? Besides you and your White Sox?"

"It's the American pastime, remember?" Edward said with mock solemnity.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you all for your kind words last week. Stay safe everyone - we're all in this together.


	15. The Game

It was just beginning to drizzle as the truck approached Charlie's house.

Beau's brain felt like a wrung out sponge. He learned nearly every painful, bloody, dark thing the Cullens—Edward especially—went through at the birth of their new lives. But there was brightness, too: love, hope, family ties, and even baseball.

Then Edward was muttering something unintelligible in a low, harsh voice. Beau followed his gaze to the weathered Ford parked in the driveway. Jacob Black stood behind his father's wheelchair, looking embarrassed, while Billy, his face impassive, sat waiting under the front porch.

"This is crossing the line."

"Did he come warn Charlie?"

Edward nodded, glaring through the rain with narrowed eyes. Beau was weak with relief that his father hadn't come home yet.

"Let me deal with this."

"That's probably best. Be careful, though. The child has no idea."

Beau frowned. "Jacob isn't much younger than I am."

Edward looked sideways at him and grinned, the anger abruptly fading from his eyes. "Oh, I know. Get them inside so I can leave. I'll be back around dusk."

"You don't have to leave."

"Actually, I do. After you get rid of them"—he threw a loaded glance at Jacob and Billy—"you still have to prepare for Charlie to meet your new boyfriend."

Beau groaned. "Thanks a lot."

Edward smiled the crooked smile he loved. "I'll be back soon."

The gold eyes flickered back to the porch, assessing, before Edward leaned in swiftly to kiss Beau under the edge of his jaw. Beau felt his heart lurch as he glanced toward the porch. Billy's face was no longer impassive, and his hands clutched the armrests of his chair.

"_Soon_," Beau stressed on his way out the door. He could feel those eyes on his back as he hustled to join the visitors.

"Hey, Billy. Hi, Jacob," he said with a cheerfulness he did not feel. "Charlie's gone for the day—I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long." Billy said, his black eyes piercing. "I just wanted to bring this up."

"Thanks," Beau eyed the brown paper sack. "Why don't you come in for a minute and dry off? Here, let me take that for you."

He pretended to be oblivious to the scrutiny as he unlocked the door, holding it open so they could go in first. Beau allowed himself one last glance at Edward. He was waiting, perfectly still, his eyes solemn.

"You'll want to put it in the fridge," Billy advised. "It's some of Harry Clearwater's homemade fish fry—Charlie's favorite. The fridge keeps it drier."

"Thanks," Beau repeated, with feeling this time. "I was running out of new ways to fix fish, and he's bound to bring home more tonight."

"Fishing again?" Billy asked, a subtle gleam in his eye now. "Down at the usual spot? Maybe I'll run by and see him."

"No, he was headed someplace new . . . but I have no idea where."

Billy watched the change of expression thoughtfully. Then he turned to Jacob.

"Jake, why don't you go get that new picture of Rebecca out of the car? I'll leave that for Charlie, too."

"Where is it?" Jacob was staring at the floor.

"I think I saw it in the trunk," his father said. "You may have to dig for it."

They both watched Jacob slouch back out into the rain, then faced each other, silent. The squeak of the wheels against the linoleum followed him into the kitchen. Beau shoved the bag onto the crowded top shelf of the fridge and turned to face Billy.

"I'm not sure when my dad will be back."

Billy nodded, his face unreadable, but said nothing.

"Thanks again for bringing fish fry over." Beau hoped he would take the hint, but he did not. Billy seemed to sense that he had given up on the small talk.

"Beau, Charlie is one of my best friends."

"Yes, I know."

"I've noticed you've been spending time with one of the Cullens."

"Yes," Beau repeated curtly.

The black eyes narrowed. "Maybe it's none of my business, but I don't think that's such a good idea."

"You're right, it is none of your business."

This surprised Billy. "You probably don't know this, but the Cullen family has an unpleasant reputation on the reservation."

"Actually, I did know that," Beau folded his arms against his chest. "But that reputation couldn't be deserved, because Cullens never set foot on the reservation."

The less than subtle reminder of the agreement that bound and protected his tribe seemed to pull Billy up short. Did he know that his own son had broken it? Beau thought not; Edward said Jacob didn't know anything.

"That's true. You seem . . . well informed about the Cullens. More informed than I expected."

Beau stared him down. "Maybe even better informed than you are."

"Maybe," Billy allowed, but his eyes were shrewd. "Is Charlie as well informed?"

Billy had found the weak chink in his armor. "Charlie likes the Cullens a lot."

"It's not my business," Billy answered, unhappily, but unsurprised at the same time. "But it may be Charlie's."

"Though Charlie's business would be my business, right?" Beau would be damned if Billy outed him to Charlie. But then he realized Billy cared more about him dating a vampire than about him dating a boy, and felt a pang of guilt at his own rudeness.

"Yes," Billy surrendered at last. "Just think about what you're doing, Beau."

"Okay. Thanks, Billy."

"What I meant to say was _don't_ do what you're doing."

Beau looked into his eyes, filled with nothing but concern for him, and it was obvious that he could say no more. Billy had good intentions, whether Beau wanted to agree with them or not.

The bang of the front door was a welcome reprieve. Jacob rounded the corner into the kitchen, long hair dripping wet, his voice rising into a complaint.

"There's no picture anywhere in that car."

"Hmm," Billy grunted, suddenly detached, spinning the chair to face Jacob. "I guess I left it at home."

Jacob rolled his eyes dramatically. "Great."

"Well, Beau, tell Charlie . . . that we stopped by, I mean."

"I will," Beau muttered.

Jacob looked surprised. "Are we leaving already?"

"Charlie's gonna be out late."

"Oh." Jacob was disappointed now. "Well, I guess I'll see you later then, Beau."

"Sure," he agreed.

"Take care," Billy warned; Beau didn't answer.

Jacob helped his father over the threshold. Beau waved, glancing at the now-empty truck, then closed the front door behind them. After the sound of the car faded away, as the tension dissipated from his shoulders, Beau went to change out of his nice clothes.

He threw on an old red flannel and jeans. The tense moment that just passed became insignificant now, and while removed from Edward and Jasper's influence, he began to make up for not being terrified before.

The phone rang, jolting him out of his anxiety, and he raced downstairs to answer it. "Hello?"

"Beau? It's me," Jessica said.

"Oh, hey, Jess." He scrambled to come back down to reality. It felt like months since he'd spoken to her. "How was the dance?"

"It was so much fun!" Jessica gushed. Needing no more invitations than that, she launched into a minute-by-minute account of the previous night. He said all the right things but it wasn't easy to concentrate. Jessica, Mike, the dance, school—they all felt irrelevant at the moment. His eyes kept flashing to the window, trying to judge the degree of light behind the heavy clouds.

"Did you hear what I said, Beau?" Jess asked, irritated.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, Mike kissed me! Can you believe it?"

"That's wonderful, Jess."

"So what did _you_ do yesterday?" Jessica challenged, still sounding bothered by his lack of attention toward her. Or maybe she was upset because he hadn't asked for more details. It seemed he was really shirking his GBF duties.

"Nothing, really. I just hung around outside to enjoy the sun."

He heard the sound of Charlie's car in the garage and gulped.

"Did you ever hear anything more from Edward Cullen?"

The front door slammed. Charlie was noisy, banging around with his gear, and dropped his tackle box in the entryway.

"Um—"

"Hi there, kiddo!"

Jessica heard his voice. "Oh, your dad's there. Never mind—we'll talk when we get back to school."

"See ya, Jess," Beau hung up the phone. Charlie waved on his way to the kitchen sink. "Hey, Dad. Where's the fish?"

"I put it out in the freezer."

"I'll go grab a few pieces before they freeze—Billy dropped off some of Harry Clearwater's fish fry this afternoon."

"He did?" Charlie's eyes lit up. "That's my favorite."

Charlie cleaned himself up while Beau prepared dinner. It didn't take long until they were sitting at the table, eating in their usual silence. Charlie was enjoying his food. Beau was wondering desperately how to fulfill his assignments. There was just no way to broach either subject naturally.

But then, as if hearing the silent call for help, Charlie threw him a lifeline. "What did you do today?"

"Well, this afternoon I just hung around the house . . ." Only the very recent part of the afternoon. He tried to keep his voice upbeat, but his stomach was hollow. "And this morning I was over at the Cullens'."

"Dr. Cullen's place?" Charlie asked, astonished. His fork clattered to the floor.

"Yeah."

"What were you doing there?"

"Well, I sort of have a date with Edward Cullen tonight, and he wanted to introduce me to his parents . . . Dad, are you all right?"

It looked like Charlie was having an aneurysm.

"You're going out with Edward Cullen?"

"I thought you liked the Cullens," Beau said, flustered. This wasn't going at all how he imagined. His pulse started picking up speed. The approval he craved so much seemed wildly out of reach.

"I . . . do." Charlie struggled for words. "But . . . last night you said you weren't interested in any of the girls in town . . . "

"Well, Edward doesn't live in town, Dad. And he's not a girl."

Charlie still hadn't picked up his fork. "But . . . what about Jessica Stanley? Or that Mallory girl? And the casseroles?"

"The casseroles aren't for me," Beau told him. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, Dad. I've been trying to tell you for . . . a while now."

Charlie sputtered at his words. "Don't be s-sorry, Beau, I'm just . . . well, I'm a little a little caught off guard here. Does your mom know?"

"She knows that I'm gay," Beau nodded. He watched his father absorb this information and regretted waiting so long to do this.

Charlie had missed so much of his life already. Now, to add insult to injury, he was the last to know.

"Okay . . . okay," Charlie said gruffly, reaching down to pick up his fork. He met Beau's anxious eyes and held them. "Well. Thank you for telling me. I'm . . . proud of you. I love you."

A wave of affection washed over him. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear those words from Charlie. The tense knot in his stomach began to unwind.

"Thanks, Dad," Beau murmured. "I hope you . . . I hope this doesn't change—"

"This changes nothing," Charlie said firmly. "You're still my son."

His cheeks were red. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Charlie said, clearing his throat, but his eyes were bright. Beau looked at his plate to give his father a moment to collect himself. "So, which one is Edwin?"

"_Edward_ is the youngest, the one with the reddish brown hair."

"Isn't he too old for you?"

"We're both juniors," Beau corrected him, though Charlie was more right than he dreamed.

"Oh, well, that's good, I guess. Is this Edwin your boyfriend?"

"It's Edward, Dad."

"Is he?"

"Sort of, I guess."

The two Swans sat quietly, adjusting, it seemed, to this newfound openness between them. Beau was grateful for the game tonight. He'd be spending time with Edward, of course, but it would also allow Charlie some time to think and come to terms with the news. Renée read dozens of books on the subject and told him, if and when the day arrived, that his father would have to mourn the what-if's. The usual milestones of his life would be different now but no less important.

Beau was sure there were no books on dating vampires, much less gay ones, and decided Charlie had a long road ahead of him. He clearly didn't know a lot of gay people, and now he knew two, one of them being his own son. Charlie led a fairly predictable life and Beau had thrown him a curveball. He would need time.

Beau shook his head to clear it and realized Charlie was talking.

"When is he coming over?"

"He'll be here in a few minutes."

"Where is he taking you?"

"I hope you're getting the Spanish Inquisition out of your system now," Beau groaned. "It's kind of at an early stage, you know. Don't embarrass me with all the boyfriend talk, okay?"

The roar of an engine startled them both. Beau jumped up to clean their plates. Charlie shooed him away from the sink.

"Leave the dishes, I can do them tonight. You baby me too much."

At the sound of the doorbell, Charlie stalked off to answer it, Beau half a step behind.

"Come on in, Edward."

Beau breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie got his name right.

"Thanks, Chief Swan," Edward said in a respectful voice.

"Go ahead and call me Charlie. Here, I'll take your jacket."

"Thanks, sir."

Beau grimaced at the butt-kissing he was being forced to watch. But his dad seemed to eat it right up. "Have a seat there, Edward."

Edward sat fluidly in the armchair, forcing Beau to sit with Chief Swan on the sofa.

"So, where are you taking my son?"

Beau reddened at the use of 'my son' again. This reaction didn't go unnoticed by Edward, who smiled broadly. "Beau is joining my family and I for a baseball game."

It was exactly the right answer. Only in Washington would the fact that it was raining buckets have no bearing on the playing of outdoor sports. Even without Edward's gift, he could tell Charlie approved of the activity, one as a bystander, and two as a father, knowing how much Beau enjoyed the game.

"Ready to go?" Beau asked as he pulled on his Mariners cap. He was using it for its intended purpose for the first time in months.

"Not too late, Beau," Charlie said as he walked them to the door.

"Don't worry, Charlie," Edward promised. "I'll have him home early."

"You take care of him, all right?"

Beau groaned again, but they ignored him.

"He'll be safe with me, I promise, sir."

Charlie couldn't doubt Edward's sincerity; it rang in every word. Beau, eager to end the conversation, stalked out the door. The other two, fast friends now, laughed.

Beau paused on the porch. There, behind Big Red, was a monster Jeep. Its tires were level with his shoulders. There were metal guards over both the headlights and taillights, with four large spotlights attached to the crash bar. The hardtop was a shiny red and very similar to Rosalie's convertible.

It was Big Red's older brother—Bigger Red.

Charlie let out a low whistle. "Wear your seatbelts."

Beau clamored into the passenger seat. The seatbelt had too many buckles. He gave up, frustrated. "What's all this?"

"It's an off-roading harness."

"Uh-oh."

Edward sighed and reached over to help. Beau was glad the rain was too heavy to see Charlie clearly on the porch. That meant he couldn't see how Edward's hands lingered at his neck, tracing the skin along the collarbones. Beau gave up trying to help him and focused on not hyperventilating.

Edward turned the key and the engine roared to life. Charlie stood watching until they rounded the corner, and then he was gone.

"This is a . . . um . . . _big_ Jeep you have."

"It's Emmett's. I didn't think you'd want to run the whole way."

"Where do you keep this thing?" Beau asked. It felt bigger than the plane he took from Seattle to Port Angeles.

"We remodeled one of the outbuildings into a garage."

Beau pulled on a strap experimentally. "Aren't you going to put your seatbelt on?"

Edward threw him a disbelieving look. Then something sunk in.

"Run the _whole_ way? As in, we're still going to run part of the way?" His voice edged up a few octaves.

"You're not going to run."

"_I'm_ going to be sick." Beau bit his lip to quell the nausea.

"Keep your eyes closed, you'll be fine." Edward leaned over to kiss Beau's cheek. Then he groaned. Beau only looked at him, puzzled.

"You smell so good in the rain."

"In a good way, or in a bad way?" Beau asked cautiously.

He sighed. "Both, always, both."

Beau hung onto the Mariners cap for dear life. He spent most of the ride bouncing up and down on the seat like a jackhammer. He cringed in discomfort. At this rate, Beau thought he might need to readjust his expectations on sexual activity, if their relationship ever came to that.

Soon they came to the end of the road. Trees formed green walls on three sides of the Jeep. The rain was a mere drizzle, slowing every second, the sky growing brighter through the clouds.

"You did well," Edward said as they rolled to a stop.

"With the chief or with the Jeep?"

"The chief," Edward answered as he turned off the engine. He turned to face Beau and his expression was so warm Beau felt his heart clench at the sight. "I was listening."

"Of course you were," Beau murmured, remembering the shaky start to that conversation. "Charlie seemed to do all right with it."

"He really meant it, you know—being proud of you," Edward told him. They both listened to the answering _thud-thud_ of Beau's heart. "He's happy that you . . . seem happy."

"I am happy," Beau said, blushing. Coming out to Charlie almost felt anticlimactic now. Edward confirmed what they both already knew: Beau should have expected more from the chief. Of course he would accept him and be proud. Beau was almost drunk with the relief of it.

Edward smiled back, then cleared his throat. "Me too. But, I'm sorry to say, we have to go on foot from here."

"You know what?" Beau decided, his good mood fading fast, "I'll just wait here."

"What happened to all your courage?" Edward's voice became cloying. "You were extraordinary today."

"I haven't forgotten the last time yet." Could that have only been yesterday?

Edward was around to his side of the car in a blur. He started unbuckling the harness.

"I'll get those, you go on ahead," Beau protested.

"Hmm . . . " Edward mused. "It seems I'm going to have to tamper with your memory."

Before he could react, Edward pulled him from the Jeep and set him on the ground. It was barely misting now; Alice was going to be right.

"Tamper with my memory?" he asked nervously.

"Something like that." Edward was watching him intently, carefully, but there was humor deep in his eyes. He placed his hands on either side of Beau's shoulders and stepped forward, forcing him back against the door of the Jeep. Just like yesterday, Beau shivered, furtively enjoying their closeness.

Edward leaned closer until their faces were inches apart. There was no room to escape, and he didn't want to.

"Now," he breathed. "What exactly are you worrying about?"

"Well, um, hitting a tree—" Beau gulped. "—and dying. And then getting sick."

Edward fought back a smile. Then he pressed his lips to the hollow at the base of Beau's throat.

"Are you still worried now?"

"Yes." Beau struggled to concentrate. "About hitting trees and getting sick."

"And now?" Edward's lips whispered against his jaw. He nuzzled against the skin for a moment and Beau shivered again, fumbling for a response.

"Trees," he gasped. "Motion sickness."

"Beau, you don't really think I would hit a tree, do you?"

"No, but _I _might." There was no confidence in his voice. Edward smelled an easy victory. He kissed slow down his cheek, stopping just at the corner of his mouth.

"Would I let a tree hurt you?"

"No," Beau breathed. He knew there was a second part to his brilliant defense, but couldn't quite call it back. Their chests were so close it felt like his heartbeat was coming from Edward. It was a unique and exquisite torture.

"You see," Edward said, their mouths just touching, "There's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

"No," he sighed, giving up.

Then, Edward took Beau's face in his hands almost roughly, kissing him in earnest.

There was really no excuse for his behavior. Beau knew better by now. And yet, he couldn't seem to stop himself from reacting as he had the first time. Instead of staying safely motionless, his arms wrapped around Edward's neck, welding them together. Beau sighed, and his lips parted.

Edward staggered back and broke the grip effortlessly.

"Damn it, Beau! You'll be the death of me, I swear you will."

Beau leaned over and braced his hands against his knees for support. "You're indestructible."

"I might have believed that before I met _you_. Now let's get out of here before I do something really stupid."

Edward threw him against his back as he had before. Beau secured his arms in a chokehold around Edward's neck.

"Don't forget to close your eyes."

Beau tucked his face against Edward's shoulder blade. He could hardly tell they were moving. He could feel Edward gliding along, but he might have been strolling down the sidewalk, the movement was so smooth. Beau was tempted to peek, just to see if Edward was really flying through the forest like before, but he resisted. It wasn't worth that awful dizziness.

He wasn't sure when they stopped until Edward reached back and touched the Mariners cap.

"It's over, Beau."

Beau dared to open his eyes, and sure enough, they were at a standstill. He stiffly unlocked the stranglehold, slipped to the ground, and landed squarely on his ass.

"Oh!"

Edward stared at him incredulously. He seemed to be having trouble deciding whether he was still too mad to find it funny. But Beau's bewildered expression pushed him over the edge, and Edward broke into a roar of laughter.

Beau picked himself up and ignored Edward, brushing mud and bracken off the back of his jacket. Annoyed, he began to stride off into the forest. At once a cold arm slid around his waist.

"Where are you going, Beau?"

"To play baseball with your family. I'm sure we'll have fun without you."

"You're going the wrong way."

Beau turned around and marched in the opposite direction. He was soon caught again.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself. You should have seen your face."

"Oh, so you're the only one who's allowed to get mad?" Beau asked.

"I wasn't mad at you."

"'Beau, you'll be the death of me'?"

"_That_ was simply a statement of fact."

Beau scoffed, trying to turn away again, but Edward held him fast.

"You were mad."

"Yes."

"But you just said—"

"That I wasn't mad at _you._ Can't you see that, Beau? Don't you understand?"

"See what?" Beau demanded.

"I'm never angry with you—how could I be? My danger-prone boy . . . brave, trusting . . . warm as you are."

"Then why?" Beau whispered, remembering the black moods that pulled Edward away from him. He always interpreted them as well-justified frustration—frustration at his weakness, slowness, unruly human reactions . . .

"I infuriate myself," Edward said gently. "The way I can't seem to keep from putting you in danger. My very existence puts you at risk. Sometimes I truly hate myself. I should be stronger, I should be able to—"

Beau put a hand over his mouth. "Don't."

Edward moved the hand but held it to his own face. "I love you. It's a poor excuse for what I'm doing, but it's still true."

It was the first time Edward said he loved him—in so many words. He might not have realized it, but Beau certainly did.

"Now, please try to behave yourself," Edward continued, gifting him with a small peck on the lips. Beau held properly still and sighed.

"You promised Chief Swan that you would have me home early, remember? We'd better get going."

"Yes, sir."

Edward led him by the hand through the tall, wet ferns, draping moss, and around a hemlock tree. Then they were there, at the edge of an enormous open field, tucked away in the lap of the Olympic peaks. Beau thought back to his first Mariners game with Charlie. The stadium was gone now, but Beau knew even if he could drop two Kingdomes on this field, they would still not cover the surface area.

The other Cullens were all there. Esme, Emmett, and Rosalie sat on a bare outcropping of rock, stretching needlessly; Jasper and Alice were throwing something back and forth, at least a quarter of a mile away from one another; Carlisle was marking bases, further apart than Beau anticipated. Did they expect him to run that far?

Esme and Emmett started toward them. Rosalie stood gracefully, striding toward the field, not sparing a glance in their direction. Beau felt his stomach drop in response.

"Was that you we heard, Edward?" Esme asked.

"It sounded like a bear choking," Emmett clarified.

Beau smiled hesitantly. "That was him."

"Beau was being unintentionally funny," Edward explained, to settle the score.

Alice had left her position and was running, or dancing, in their direction. She hurtled to a fluid stop in front of them. "It's time."

A deep rumble of thunder followed her words. It shook the trees and crashed westward, toward town. Just as Alice predicted this morning.

"Eerie, isn't it?" Emmett said with easy familiarity. He winked at Beau.

"Let's go."

He and Alice darted toward the field together, reducing their group to three.

"Are you ready for some ball?"

Beau laughed at Edward's enthusiasm. "Go team!"

Edward snickered and bounded off after siblings. He quickly overtook them, despite a late start, taking Beau's breath away. The grace and power on this field was overwhelming.

"Shall we?"

Beau returned Esme's smile and let her take the lead. "You don't play with them?"

"No, I prefer to referee—I like keeping them honest."

"Do they cheat?"

"Oh yes—you should hear the arguments they get into! Actually, I hope you don't, you would think they were raised by a pack of wolves."

Beau laughed at that. "You sound like my mom."

"Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways. I never could get over my mothering instincts—did Edward tell you I lost a child?"

"No," Beau said softly, stunned to be let into her confidence already.

"Yes, my first and only baby. He died just a few days after he was born, the poor tiny thing. It broke my heart—that's why I jumped off the cliff, you know."

"Edward just said you fell," Beau murmured. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Always the gentleman." Esme smiled. "Edward was the first of my new sons. I've always thought of him that way, even though he's older than I, in one way at least. That's why I'm so happy that he's found you, dear."

The endearment sounded very natural on her lips. Beau was further reminded of Renée when she curled her arm through his in a familiar gesture. "He's been the odd man out for far too long; it's hurt me to see him alone."

"You don't mind, then? That I'm . . . all wrong for him?"

"No." She was thoughtful. "You're what he wants. It will work out, somehow."

They reached the edge of the field. It looked as if they had formed teams. Edward was far out in left field, Carlisle paced between first and second bases, and Alice stood at the pitcher's mound.

Emmett was swinging an aluminum bat; it whistled almost untraceably through the air. Jasper crouched at home plate, catching for the other team. None of them wore gloves.

"All right," Esme called. "Batter up."

Alice stood straight and tall despite her short stature, deceptively motionless. Beau studied her style. She seemed to be more about stealth than intimidation. She wound up, then, sinuous as a cobra, threw the ball to Jasper. _Strike_.

Jasper hurled the ball back to Alice's waiting hand. She permitted herself a brief grin. Then her hand spun out again. Pitcher to pitcher, Beau liked her technique.

This time the bat smashed the invisible ball. The crack of impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed off the mountains, and Beau immediately understood the necessity of the storm.

The ball shot like a meteor above the field and flew deep into the surrounding forest.

"Home run," Beau decided.

"Wait," Esme cautioned, listening intently. Emmett was a blur around the bases, Carlisle close behind, when Beau realized Edward was missing.

"Out!"

Edward sprang from the fringe of the trees, ball in his upraised hand, his wide grin visible even from home plate.

"Emmett hits the hardest," Esme explained, "but Edward runs the fastest."

The inning continued in a similar fashion. It was impossible to keep up with the speed at which the ball flew, the rate at which their bodies raced around the field.

He learned the other reason they waited for a thunderstorm to play, when Jasper, trying to avoid Edward's infallible fielding, hit a ground ball toward Carlisle. Carlisle ran into the ball, raced Jasper to the base, then collided with him. The sound was like the crash of two massive falling boulders.

"Safe," Esme called in a calm voice, as the two stood up, unscathed.

Emmett's team was up by one—Rosalie managed to flit around the bases after tagging up on one of Emmett's long flies—when Edward caught the third out. He sprinted to Beau, sparkling with excitement.

"What do you think?"

"I'll never be able to sit through dull old Major League Baseball again, though, I'm a little disappointed."

"Why?" Edward asked, puzzled.

"Well, it would be nice if I could find just one thing you didn't do better than everyone else on the planet."

He flashed his special crooked smile, leaving Beau breathless.

"I'm up," he said, heading for the plate.

Edward played intelligently, keeping the ball low and out of Rosalie's always-ready hand in the outfield. He gained two bases like lightning before Emmett could get the ball back in play. Carlisle knocked one so far out of the field—with an ear-splitting boom—that he and Edward both made it in. Alice slapped them dainty high fives.

The score changed constantly as the game went on. The Cullens razzed each other like any street ballplayers as the lead switched back and forth. Occasionally Esme would need to call them to order. The thunder rumbled on, but the field stayed dry, true to Alice's word.

"Beau!"

Alice was waving him on. Beau stared, confused, until Esme prodded him to take a step forward. The confusion he felt didn't go away until he was with Alice on the pitcher's mound. Over her head, he noticed the others coming closer, stopping at a human regulation distance.

"What's going on?"

"Edward says you're an All-Star," Alice explained. "We want to see you pitch."

Instantly he was blushing. "Oh, no, I couldn't—"

A cold hand he knew to be Edward's pressed into his back. "Yes, you can. Tryouts are in a couple of weeks."

He felt a lump forming in his throat. "Sure, but—"

Alice dropped the ball into his hand with a face that brokered no argument. "Consider us good practice. Human players won't stand a chance."

Then he was alone on the mound. There were times when it felt like the loneliest place in the world. But today, despite being surrounded by vampires, he never felt safer. Gradually he relaxed, cheekily spinning his Mariners hat so the visor faced backwards. Somewhere in the outfield, Edward chuckled.

Alice replaced her mate as the catcher. Emmett, big, burly, and grinning, stepped up to home plate. They had inched it up without him noticing, but even so, Emmett was wider and more powerful than any batter he had ever seen.

Beau knew Emmett would score on anything he threw, but that didn't mean he had to give up entirely. He decided this would be a speed exercise. Perhaps he would break his own personal record. Alice crouched low behind her brother, eyes narrowed, and held up one finger, then four.

Fastball, inside. Easy. Beau nodded, wound up, and threw toward the plate.

Emmett, a gentleman, swung. Esme called a strike. Beau stifled a grin as the ball came sailing back to him, slow enough for him to catch without hurting his fingers. He stood still again and waited for the signal.

Three fingers—a slider. He sized up Emmett, deliberating. Then he shook his head. Alice smirked, held up two fingers, then one. Curveball, away.

The windup, the pitch, and the strike. The Cullens were playing so far below their skill level it was almost funny. But Beau was beaming, his body remembering the ebb and flow of the game. It had been so long, and he forgot how much he loved it.

Jasper stood near Alice, arms folded, a small smile on his lips. Beau knew he was reading nothing but joy from the pitcher's mound.

Now, he didn't know Emmett that well, but he _did_ know the niceties were over. Emmett's eyebrows knit together as he concentrated, the aluminum bat almost dancing through the air. This ball would go farther than even Edward could catch. This one would be out of the park.

Alice wiggled her fingers and then held up three of them. A change up—away. Beau took a long breath, wound up, and threw.

The answering crack was deafening. Beau spun to watch, knowing the ball was invisible to his human eyes, but his heart was so full that it did not matter. Emmett raced around the bases in triumph. No one bothered to give chase, allowing Emmett his home run. He whooped and slid into home base with a grin.

Beau caught Edward's eye and didn't look away, unsure of how to express how thankful he was for this opportunity. If only Edward could read his mind. He seemed to understand, though, and smiled beatifically in response. Edward mouthed _eighty-seven_ and Beau damned-near lost his mind. A new personal best.

And then Alice gasped.

Edward's head snapped up to look at her. Their eyes met and something flowed between them in an instant. Beau found himself hustled to home plate before he could think about what just happened.

"Alice?"

"I didn't see—I couldn't tell," she whispered.

"What is it, Alice?" Carlisle asked with the calm voice of authority.

"They were traveling much quicker than I thought. I can see I had the perspective wrong before."

Jasper leaned over his mate, his posture becoming protective. "What changed?"

"They heard us playing, and it changed their path," Alice said, contrite, as if she felt responsible for whatever had frightened her.

Seven pairs of eyes flashed to Beau's face and away. His right hand, now empty, began to tingle in warning.

"How soon?" Carlisle asked, turning toward Edward.

His son was scowling. "Less than five minutes. They're running—they want to play."

"Can you make it?"

"No, not carrying—" He paused. "Besides, the last thing we need is for them to catch the scent and start hunting."

Emmett turned to Alice. "How many?"

"Three."

"Three!" he scoffed. The steel bands of muscles along his arms flexed. "Let them come."

Carlisle deliberated for a long moment. Only Emmett seemed unperturbed; the rest stared at their leader with anxious eyes.

"Let's just continue the game," he said finally. His voice was cool and level. "Alice said they were simply curious."

All this was said in a flurry of words that only lasted a few seconds. Beau listened carefully and caught most of it, though he couldn't hear what Esme now asked Edward with a silent vibration of her lips. He only saw the slight shake of Edward's head and the look of relief on her face.

"You catch, Esme," he said, planting himself in front of Beau. "I'll call now."

The others returned to the field, their sharp eyes warily sweeping the forest. Alice and Esme stayed put and with Edward they formed a triangle around Beau. He spun the Mariners hat back to face the front, pulling at the visor down anxiously.

"The others are coming now?"

"Yes, stay very still, keep quiet, and don't move from my side, please." Edward hid the stress in his voice well, but Beau could still hear it, and that worried him. He slid an arm around Beau in a comforting gesture, but quickly, it became obvious he had other intentions. He watched as Edward smoothed his hand across Beau's face, his neck, and the sleeves of the old flannel.

Marking it—marking _him_—with his own scent.

"That won't help," Alice said softly. "I could smell him from across the field."

"I know." A hint of frustration colored his tone.

A halfhearted game began. Alice produced a new ball and tossed it at a near human speed. No one dared to hit harder than a bunt. Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper all hovered infield. Now and again, despite the fear that numbed his brain, Beau felt Rosalie's eyes trained on him. They were expressionless, but something about the way she held her mouth made him think she was angry.

"What did Esme ask you?" Beau whispered.

"Whether they were thirsty."

His eyes were fast fading in color. The gold Beau loved so much was bleeding into black. Those eyes darted between his face and the forest every ten seconds.

"I'm sorry, Beau. It was stupid, irresponsible, to expose you like this. I'm so sorry."

His breath caught. The darkening eyes had zeroed in on right field. Edward took a half step forward, angling himself between Beau and whatever was coming toward them.

Carlisle, Emmett, and the others turned in the same direction, hearing sounds of passage too faint for Beau's ears.


	16. Hunted

They emerged one by one from the forest, ranging a dozen meters apart. The first male fell back to allow the other take the front, a clear display of the pecking order. The third was a woman; the only thing Beau could see from this distance was that her hair was a startling shade of red.

They closed ranks as they approached, exhibiting the natural respect of a troop of predators as it encounters a larger, unfamiliar group of its own kind.

They were very different from the Cullens. Their walk was catlike, a gait that hovered on the edge of shifting into a crouch. The three were dressed like backpackers, nomadic as they were, no doubt—Beau thought with a gulp—reflecting their typical prey. But the clothes were frayed, worn, and the three did not wear shoes. Beau was sure by the time a hiker noticed these inconsistencies, it would be too late.

Their sharp eyes studied the more polished, urbane stance of Carlisle, who, flanked by Emmett and Jasper, stepped guardedly forward to meet them. Without any obvious communication between them, the strange trio straightened into a more casual, erect baring.

The man in front was easily the most beautiful, his skin olive-toned beneath the vampiric pallor. His hair was a glossy black. He had a medium build, hard-muscled, but nothing next to Emmett's brawn. He smiled in a friendly manner, exposing his gleaming white teeth.

The woman was wilder, eyes shifting restlessly between the men around her, the chaotic red hair quivering in the slight breeze. It was full of leaves and debris from the woods, and seemed to have a life of its own. The woman's posture was distinctly feline despite the détente.

The second male was smaller than the leader, plainer, but had sharp, vigilant eyes.

Their eyes in particular stood out. They were not the gold or black Beau had come to expect, but a deep, burgundy color that was disturbing . . . and sinister.

"We thought we heard a game," the leader said with a hint of an accent, producing the ball Beau thought Emmett had sent into oblivion. "I'm Laurent. These are Victoria and James."

"I'm Carlisle. This is my family, Emmett and Jasper, Rosalie, Esme and Alice, Edward and Beau." As the eldest Cullen pointed everyone out, Beau felt a shock when he heard his own name.

"Do you have room for a few more players?"

Carlisle matched Laurent's friendly tone. "Actually, we were just finishing up. But we'd certainly be interested another time. Are you planning to stay in the area for long?"

"We're headed north, in fact, but we were curious to see who was in the neighborhood. We haven't run into any company in a long time."

"No, this region is usually empty for us and the occasional visitor, like yourselves."

The tense atmosphere had slowly subsided into casual conversation. Beau guessed it was Jasper's doing, his peculiar gift easing the strain. Beau knew he was afraid, but the fear was far away, walled off and unreachable.

"What's your hunting range?"

Carlisle ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "The Olympic Range here, up and down the Coast Ranges on occasion. We keep a permanent residence nearby. There's another permanent settlement like ours up near Denali."

"Permanent? How do you manage that?" Laurent asked, rocking back on his heels.

"Why don't you come back to our home with us and we can talk comfortably? It's a rather long story."

James and Victoria exchanged a surprised look at the word "home," but Laurent controlled his expression better.

"That sounds very interesting, and welcome. We've been on the hunt all the way down from Ontario, and we haven't had a chance to clean up in awhile." Laurent's eyes moved appreciatively over Carlisle's refined appearance.

"Please don't take offense, but we'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from hunting in this immediate area. We have to stay inconspicuous, you understand," Carlisle explained.

"Of course. We certainly won't encroach on your territory. We just ate outside of Seattle, anyway," he laughed.

"_There's daggers in men's smiles. The near in blood, The nearer bloody."_

Beau felt a shiver of intuition run up his spine. The college students Charlie warned him about—no one had heard from them in days, and their last known location had been Seattle. Edward's eyes narrowed as he reached the same conclusion. Beau shivered again.

"We'll show you the way if you'd like to run with us—Emmett and Alice, you can go with Edward and Beau to get the Jeep."

Three things happened simultaneously while Carlisle was speaking. A curl of Beau's hair—one of the same curls he shared with Charlie—ruffled in the breeze. Edward stiffened, and the second male, James, suddenly whipped his head around to scrutinize Beau, his nostrils flaring.

A swift rigidity fell on the group as James lurched one step forward into a crouch. Edward bared his teeth, crouching in defense, a feral snarling ripping from his throat. It was nothing like the playful growls in his room; this noise was the single most menacing thing Beau had ever heard. The laughing boy from this morning was gone; in his place stood a predator. Chills ran from the crown of Beau's head to the back of his heels.

"What's this?" Laurent exclaimed in open surprise. Neither James nor Edward relaxed their aggressive poses. James feinted slightly to the side and Edward mirrored him in response.

"He's with us." Carlisle's firm rebuke was directed at James. Laurent seemed to catch the scent less powerfully than James, but awareness now dawned on his face, propelling him forward almost involuntarily.

"You brought a snack?"

Edward snarled even more ferociously, his lip curling high above his glistening, bared teeth. Laurent backtracked at once.

"I said he's with us," Carlisle said again in a hard voice.

"But he's _human_."

"Yes." Emmett shouldered past Carlisle to stand between James and Edward. The former slowly straightened out of his crouch, eyes not leaving Beau, nostrils still wide; the latter stayed tensed like a lion in front of him.

When Laurent spoke again, it was obvious he was trying to defuse the sudden hostility. "It appears we have a lot to learn about each other."

"Indeed."

"But we'd like to accept your invitation." Laurent's eyes moved from Beau to Carlisle. "And, of course, we will not harm the human boy. We won't hunt in your range, as I said."

James looked aggravated at this promise. He and Victoria exchanged a brief glance. Her eyes never stopped flickering edgily from face to face.

Carlisle measured Laurent's open expression. "We'll show you the way. Jasper, Rosalie, Esme?"

Those he named gathered together to block Beau from view as they converged. Alice was at his side instantly while Emmett fell back slowly, almost reluctantly, his eyes locked on James.

"Let's go, Beau."

Beau had been rooted to one spot for the entire interaction. Edward had to grip his elbow and pull hard to break the trance, with Alice and Emmett following close behind. Beau stumbled, trying to keep up with the pace. Without Jasper's concentrated power, the fear was spilling over, stunning him in place. Edward's impatience was tangible as they moved at human speed to the forest edge.

They ran just as before, Beau slung over Edward's back, but this time, he couldn't close his eyes. A fury seemed to consume Edward, driving him faster than ever. Even with the extra weight, the others trailed behind.

"Strap him in," Edward ordered his brother when they reached the Jeep. Beau sat in a daze as the harness buckles clicked over his chest. Alice was already in the front seat.

Edward was growling something too fast to understand, and yet, it sounded to Beau like a string of profanities.

The jolting trip was much worse this time, and the darkness only made it more frightening. They hit the main road, speed increasing, and Beau could finally see where they were headed—south, away from Forks.

"Where are we going?"

No one answered. No one even looked at him.

"Dammit, Edward! Where are you taking me?"

"We have to get you away from here—far away—now." He didn't look back as he spoke. The speedometer read a hundred and five miles an hour.

"Turn around! You have to take me home!" Beau struggled with the stupid harness.

"Emmett," Edward said grimly. Emmett secured Beau's hands in his steely grasp.

"No! Edward! You can't do this."

"I have to, Beau, now please be quiet."

It was outrageous. "I won't! You have to take me back—Charlie will call the FBI! They'll be all over your family—Carlisle and Esme! They'll have to leave, to hide forever!"

"Calm down, Beau." His voice was cold. "We've been there before."

"Not over me, you don't! You're not ruining everything over me!"

Alice spoke for the first time. "Edward, pull over."

He flashed her a hard look then sped up. Undeterred, she tried again. "Edward, let's just talk this through."

"You don't understand," he roared. Beau had never heard his voice so loud; it was deafening in the confines of the Jeep. The speedometer approached one hundred and fifteen. "He's a tracker, Alice, did you _see_ that? He's a tracker!"

Emmett stiffened at the word. It meant something more to the three of them; Beau wanted to understand, but there was no opening to ask.

"Pull over, Edward." Alice's tone was reasonable, but held a ring of authority Beau had not yet heard from her.

The speedometer inched past one-twenty.

"Do it, Edward."

"Listen to me, Alice. I saw his mind. Tracking is his passion, his obsession—and he wants him, Alice—_him_, specifically. He begins the hunt tonight."

"He doesn't know where—"

Edward interrupted her. "How long do you think it will take James to cross his scent in town? His plan was already set before the words were out of Laurent's mouth."

Beau knew where his scent would lead. "Charlie! You can't leave him there! You can't leave my dad!"

"He's right," Alice said. The car slowed slightly. "Let's just look at our options for a minute."

The car slowed again, more noticeably, and then screeched to a stop on the shoulder of the darkened highway. Beau flew against the harness and immediately slammed back into the seat.

"There are no options."

"I'm not leaving Charlie!" Beau yelled. Edward ignored him completely.

"We have to take him back."

"No." Edward was absolute.

His brother pressed on. "He's no match for us, Edward. He won't be able to touch Beau."

"He'll wait."

"I can wait, too." Emmett smiled.

"You didn't see—you don't understand. Once he commits to a hunt, he's unshakable. We'd have to kill him."

"That's an option."

"And the female—she's with him. If it turns into a fight, the leader will go with them, too."

"There are enough of us."

"There's another option," Alice said quietly.

Edward turned on her in his fury. His voice was a blistering snarl. "There—is—no—other—option!"

Emmett and Beau both stared at him in shock. Alice, to her credit, seemed unsurprised by the outburst. The silence lasted for a long minute as Edward and Alice stared each other down.

"Does anyone want to hear my plan?"

"No," Edward growled. Alice glared at him, finally provoked.

"Listen," Beau pleaded. "You take me back."

"No—"

Beau continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You take me back. I tell my dad I want to go home to Phoenix. I pack my bags. We wait till this tracker is watching and then we lead him away. He'll follow us and leave Charlie alone. Charlie won't call the FBI on your family and then you can take me any damned place you want."

They stared at him, stunned.

"It's not a bad idea, really." Emmett's surprise was definitely an insult.

"It might work—and we simply can't leave his father unprotected. You know that," Alice said.

All three looked at Edward.

"It's too dangerous—I don't want the tracker within a hundred miles of him."

Emmett was supremely confident. "Edward, he's not getting through us."

Alice thought for a minute. "I don't see him attacking. He'll try to wait for us to leave him alone."

"It won't take long for him to realize that's not going to happen."

"I _demand_ that you take me home." Beau tried to sound firm.

Edward pressed his fingers to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please," Beau said in a much smaller voice.

Edward didn't look up. When he spoke, his voice sounded worn.

"You're leaving tonight, whether the tracker sees or not. You tell Charlie that you can't stand another minute in Forks. Do whatever you have to do. Pack the first things your hands touch, and then get in your truck. I don't care what he says to you. You have fifteen minutes. Do you hear me? Fifteen minutes from the time you cross the doorstep."

The Jeep rumbled to life, and he spun it around, the tires squealing in protest. The needle on the speedometer started to race up the dial again.

"Emmett?"

"Oh, sorry." The largest Cullen let go of his hands.

A few minutes passed in silence, other than the roar of the engine. Finally Edward spoke again.

"This is how it's going to happen. When we get to the house, if the tracker is not there, I will walk Beau to the door. Then he has fifteen minutes." His eyes glared in the rearview mirror. "Emmett, you take the outside of the house. Alice, you get the truck. I'll be inside as long as Beau is. After he's out, you two can take the Jeep home and tell Carlisle."

"No way," Emmett broke in. "I'm with you."

"Think it through, Emmett. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Until we know how far this is going to go, I'm with you."

Edward sighed. "If the tracker _is_ there, we keep driving."

"We're going to make it there before him," Alice said confidently.

Edward seemed to accept that. Whatever his problem with Alice was, he didn't doubt her now.

"What are we going to do with the Jeep?"

His voice had a hard edge. "You're driving it home."

"No, I'm not," Alice said calmly.

The unintelligible stream of profanities started again.

"We can't all fit in my truck," Beau whispered.

Edward didn't appear to hear him. Beau spoke again, quieter this time. "I think you should let me go alone."

He heard that.

"Beau, please just do this my way, just this once," Edward said between clenched teeth.

"The tracker saw the way you acted tonight," Beau argued. "He's going to think you're with me, wherever you are."

Emmett looked insultingly surprised again. "Edward, listen to him. I think he's right."

"Yes, he is," Alice agreed.

"I can't do that." Edward's voice was icy. Let him go alone or listen to reason, Beau wasn't sure. He cleared his throat.

"Emmett should engage him. He definitely got an eyeful of Emmett."

"What?"

"You'll get a better crack at him in the hunting party," Alice told her biggest brother.

Edward stared at her incredulously. "You think I should let Beau go off alone? Unprotected?"

"Of course not. Jasper and I will take him."

"I can't do that," Edward repeated, but this time there was a trace of defeat in his voice. He was starting to see logic.

"Lead James on a wild-goose chase—take Big Red," Beau cut in. "I'll tell Charlie I'm going home to Phoenix. We can switch clothes. Lead James far enough away, then come and meet me. Take a roundabout route, of course, and then Jasper and Alice can go home."

"Meet you where?"

"Vancouver." Beau remembered that the vampires liked the north.

"He'll hear where you're going."

"And you'll make it look like a ruse, obviously. James will know that _we_ know he's listening. He'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I am going."

"He's diabolical," Emmett chuckled.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"There are several million people in Vancouver," Beau informed him. "I'm almost eighteen, I think I'm old enough to get my own apartment."

"Edward, we'll be with him," Alice reminded him.

"I kind of like it." Emmett was no doubt thinking of cornering James.

"Shut up, Emmett."

"Look, if we try to take the tracker down here, _now_, there's a much better chance that someone will get hurt. Beau will get hurt, or you will, trying to protect him. Now, if we get James alone . . . " He trailed off with a smile.

The Jeep was crawling slowly along through town. Despite his brave talk, Beau could feel the hairs on his arms standing up. He thought about Charlie, alone in the house, and tried to be courageous.

"Beau." Edward's voice was very soft. Alice and Emmett looked out their windows. "If you let anything happen to yourself—anything at all—I'm holding you personally responsible. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," Beau gulped.

He turned to Alice. "Can Jasper handle this?"

"Give him some credit, Edward. He's been doing very, very well, all things considered."

"Can _you_ handle this?"

And graceful little Alice pulled back her lips in a horrific grimace and let loose a guttural snarl that had Beau cowering against his seat in terror.

Edward smiled at her and sped up, the Jeep racing toward Charlie's house.

"But keep your opinions to yourself," he muttered.

* * *

Charlie was waiting up for him. All the house lights were on. Beau's mind was blank as he tried to think of a way to make his father let him go. It wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

Edward pulled up slowly, staying well behind the truck. All three were acutely alert, ramrod straight in their seats, listening to every sound of the wood, looking through every shadow, catching every scent, searching for something out of place. Beau sat motionless until they finished.

"He's not here. Let's go."

Emmett reached over to help free Beau from the harness. "Don't worry, Beau. We'll take care of things here quickly."

Beau felt his eyes fill up. He barely knew Emmett, and yet, somehow, not knowing when he would see him again after tonight was agonizing. He also knew this was just a brief taste of the goodbyes he had to survive in the next hour. The tears spilled over and he brushed them away.

"Alice, Emmett."

Edward's voice was a command. The two slithered soundlessly into the darkness and disappeared. Edward pulled him close, walking him swiftly to the house, eyes always roving through the night.

"Fifteen minutes."

"I can do this," Beau sniffled. His tears had given him inspiration.

Beau stopped on the porch and took hold of Edward's face in his hands. He used his full height and stared down at him fiercely. "I love you. I will always love you, no matter what happens now."

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Beau." Edward's tone was equally fierce.

"Just follow the plan, okay? Keep Charlie safe for me. He's not going to like me very much after this, and I want to have the chance to apologize to him later."

"Get inside, Beau. We have to hurry."

"One more thing," Beau whispered. "Don't listen to another word I say tonight."

Edward was already close. All he had to do was lean in and kiss his surprised, frozen lips with as much force as he was capable of. Then he turned and kicked the door open.

"Go away, Edward!" Beau slammed the door shut in his still-shocked face.

"Beau?"

"Leave me alone!"

Beau stormed up the stairs and slammed the door, locking it behind him. He seized one duffel bag, his passport, and the secret hoard of cash.

Charlie was pounding on the door. "Beau, are you okay? What's going on?"

"I'm going _home._" His voice broke in the perfect spot.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No!" Beau turned to his dresser and caught the armful of clothes Edward threw at him.

"Did he break up with you?"

"No," Beau yelled, distracted, shoving clothes into his duffel bag until it was full.

"What happened, Beau?" Charlie pounded on the door again.

"I broke up with him!" He was struggling with the zipper now, fresh tears brimming in his eyes, until Edward zipped it in one smooth gesture. He put the strap carefully over Beau's arm.

"I'll be in the truck—go!" He pushed Beau toward the door and vanished.

Beau unlocked the door and pushed past his father. The heavy bag slowed him down; Charlie was close behind as they descended the stairs.

"What happened? I thought you liked him."

He caught up when they reached the kitchen. Charlie was bewildered, but held him firmly by the elbow, spinning Beau around to meet his eyes. It was obvious to Beau that Charlie had no intention of letting him leave.

He could think of only one way to escape. It involved hurting him so much that Beau hated himself for even considering it. But he had no time. He had no choice.

He had to keep Charlie safe.

"I _do_ like him, Dad, that's the problem. I can't do this anymore! I can't put down any more roots here! I can't keep pretending everything is fine. I don't want to end up trapped in this stupid, boring town like you have."

Charlie's hand dropped as if electrocuted. Beau turned away so he could try to forget his wounded expression, knowing, painfully, that it would haunt him until the end of time.

"Beau, you can't leave now. It's nighttime."

"I'll sleep in the truck if I get tired."

"Just wait another week," Charlie pleaded. "Renée will be back by then."

"What?"

Charlie continued eagerly, almost babbling with relief as Beau hesitated. "She called while you were out. Things aren't going so well in Florida, and if Phil doesn't get signed by the end of the week, they're going back to Arizona. The assistant coach of the Sidewinders said they might have a spot for another shortstop."

Beau could barely absorb any of this. Every second that ticked by put Charlie in more danger, but all he could think about was how close he and Charlie had become. They sat in this living room only a few hours ago with Edward. Beau had worked up the courage to come out to his father, but he hadn't been totally honest with him. Charlie still didn't know what happened in Phoenix, and suddenly, Beau was desperate to tell him everything. It was the only thing Beau felt could explain why he was leaving.

That was his modus operandi—running. It was how he survived.

Beau began to mourn what they could have been as he actively tried to destroy what they were.

"I have a key," he muttered. "Just let me go, Charlie. It didn't work out with us, okay? I really, really _hate_ Forks!"

His cruel words did the job. Charlie stood frozen on the doorstep, stunned, as Beau ran into the night. He was frightened of the empty yard. He tossed his duffel into the bed of the truck, wrenched the door open, and threw himself inside. The key was waiting in the ignition.

"I'll call you tomorrow!" he yelled, wishing more than anything he could explain it all, knowing he would never be able to. Big Red roared to life and peeled out of the driveway.

The house and his father disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, Edward was reaching for his hand. "Pull over."

"I can drive," Beau said as tears rolled down his cheeks.

He found himself unexpectedly gripped around the waist, pulled across Edward's lap, and deposited in the passenger seat. The truck didn't swerve an inch.

"You wouldn't be able to find the house."

The lights of the Jeep—Alice driving—flared in the rearview. "What about the tracker?"

"He heard the end of your performance," Edward said grimly.

"Charlie?"

"The tracker followed us. He's running behind us now."

Beau felt his body go cold. "Can we outrun him?"

"No." But he sped up as he spoke. The engine groaned in protest. Suddenly, Beau's plan didn't feel so brilliant anymore. He stared at the headlights trailing them when the truck shuddered. A dark shadow sprang up outside the window.

Edward's hand clamped down over his mouth, stopping the scream in his throat. "It's Emmett!"

He released Beau and wound an arm around his waist. "It's okay, Beau. You're going to be safe."

They raced through the quiet town. It felt like the four of them—five, with the tracker—were the only ones stirring.

"I didn't realize you were still so bored with small-town life. It seemed like you were adjusting fairly well—especially recently. Maybe I was just flattering myself that I was making life more interesting for you."

"I wasn't being nice," Beau confessed. "I said some of the things my mother said when she left him. Hit below the belt. He'll never forgive me."

"Don't worry. He'll forgive you." Edward smiled a little, but it didn't touch his eyes.

"He won't."

Edward saw the naked panic in his expression. "Beau, it's going to be all right."

"But it won't be all right when I'm not with you."

"We'll be together again in a few days," Edward tightened his grip. "Don't forget that this was your idea."

"It was the best idea—of course it was mine."

His answering smile was bleak. Beau heard his voice quavering as he spoke. "Why did this happen? Why me?"

"I got a good look at his mind tonight," Edward said heavily. "I'm not sure there's anything I could have done to avoid this, once he saw you. It _is_ partially your fault."

Of course it was. His number was up—really, _really_ up. First Phoenix, then the van, Port Angeles, and now a tracker thirsty for his blood. But he refused to count Edward among these dangers.

"If you didn't smell so appallingly luscious, he might not have bothered. But when I defended you . . . well, that made it a lot worse. He's not used to being thwarted. He thinks of himself as a hunter and nothing else. His existence is consumed with tracking. Suddenly we've presented him with a beautiful challenge—a large clan of strong fighters all bent on protecting one vulnerable element. You wouldn't believe how euphoric he is now. It's his favorite game, and we've just made it his most exciting one ever."

He paused for a moment.

"But if I had stood by, he would have killed you right then."

"I thought . . . I didn't smell the same to others . . . as I do to you."

"You don't," Edward said, sounding frustrated. "But that doesn't mean you aren't still a temptation to every one of them. If you _had_ appealed to the tracker—or any of them—the same way you appeal to me, it would have been a fight right there."

Beau shuddered. He remembered once imagining a brawl between himself, Edward, and the Port Angeles punks. But this was a whole other ballgame.

"I don't think I have any choice but to kill him now," Edward muttered. "Carlisle won't like it."

"How can you kill a vampire?"

His voice became harsh. "The only way to be sure is to tear him to shreds and burn the pieces."

"Will the other two fight with him?"

"The woman will. I'm not sure about Laurent, they don't have a very strong bond. He's only with them for convenience. He was embarrassed by James in the clearing."

"But James and the woman—they'll try to kill you?" Beau asked, his voice raw.

"Beau, don't you _dare_ waste time worrying about me. Your only concern is keeping yourself safe and—please, please—_trying_ not to be reckless."

His heartbeat was becoming erratic. "Is he still following?"

"Yes. He won't attack the house, though. Not tonight."

Edward drove the truck right up to the house. The lights inside were the only bright spot of the encroaching forest. Emmett pulled him out of the passenger seat before the truck stopped and ran them through the door.

The rest of the family was waiting with Laurent. Emmett growled a warning as he set Beau down next to Edward.

"He's tracking us."

Laurent was unhappy. "I was afraid of that."

Alice danced to Jasper's side and whispered something in his ear. Then they flew up the stairs together. Rosalie watched them go and moved quickly to Emmett's side. Her beautiful eyes were intense and furious.

"What will he do?" Carlisle asked.

"I'm sorry," Laurent answered. "I was afraid, when your boy there defended him, that it would set James off."

"Can you stop him?"

"Nothing stops James when he gets started."

"We'll stop him." Emmett promised. There was no doubting what he meant.

"You can't bring him down. I've never seen anything like him in my three hundred years. He's absolutely lethal. That's why I joined his coven."

_His_ coven. The show of leadership in the clearing was merely that, a show.

Laurent was shaking his head. He glanced at Beau, perplexed, and back to Carlisle. "Are you sure it's worth it?"

Edward's enraged roar filled the room; Laurent cringed back.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to make that choice."

Laurent deliberated, eyes studying every face, before they swept over the bright room.

"I'm intrigued by the life you've created here. But I won't get into the middle of this. I bear none of you any enmity, but I won't go up against James. I think I will head north—to that clan in Denali." He hesitated. "Don't underestimate James. He's got a brilliant mind and unparalleled senses. He's every bit as comfortable in the human world as you seem to be, and won't come at you head on. I'm sorry for what's been unleashed here. Truly sorry."

"Go in peace," was Carlisle's formal answer.

The silence following his departure lasted less than a second.

"How close?"

Esme was already moving; her hand touched an inconspicuous keypad on the wall, and with a groan, huge metal shutters began sealing up the glass wall. Beau gaped at the sight.

"About three miles out past the river; he's circling to meet up with the female."

"What's the plan?"

"We'll lead the tracker off, and then Jasper and Alice will run Beau north."

"And then?"

Edward's tone was deadly. "And soon as Beau is clear, we hunt him."

"I guess there's no other choice," his father agreed, looking grim.

Edward turned Beau. "Come on."

He looked back over his shoulder to watch the preparations as Edward hustled him upstairs. Seconds later they were back in his room. Was it only this morning that they were here, listening to jazz, growing closer by the heartbeat?

"What are we doing?"

"Your idea, remember, about our clothes? We can try to confuse the smell. It won't work for long, but James might think I'm you, at least from a distance."

Beau had fantasies of Edward taking his clothes off, but now, with six vampires downstairs and two more hunting them, he realized this wasn't the perfect moment. Still, he couldn't help but stare as Edward undressed, momentarily dazed.

Despite the tension, it looked like Edward might be smiling. "Beau? Your clothes?"

"Right," Beau nodded, shrugging out of the flannel, his t-shirt, and jeans in short order. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Edward murmured, pausing, it seemed, for the same reason. Beau felt a rush of heat under his skin, knowing despite the semidarkness of the room, Edward could see him—all of him—perfectly. Beau felt the flush burn all the way down his chest and knew Edward could see that, too. But Edward went back to business and pointedly made sure Beau did the same.

The clothes had that familiar, intoxicating scent. Beau took comfort in it as they rejoined the family downstairs. Someone was shouting; the volume of the voice rose with each word. With a start, he realized the voice belonged to Rosalie, and that he had never heard her speak before.

"Why? What is he to me? Except a menace—a danger Edward's chosen to inflict on all of us."

Beau flinched back from the venom in her eyes. She stood apart from the rest of the family, flanked only by Emmett, who put one hand on her shoulder.

"Rose . . . "

Rosalie shook him off. Carlisle, looking angrier than Beau had ever seen him, spoke in a cold voice.

"Beau is part of this family now. We protect our family."

Surprisingly, her head bowed at the reprimand, but she glowered at Carlisle all the same.

"We will be taking your truck, Beau. Alice, Jasper—take the Mercedes. Rosalie and Esme will take the Volvo."

Beau said a silent prayer for Big Red. He realized the _we_ Carlisle mentioned was the hunting party—Carlisle, Edward, and Emmett.

"Alice," Carlisle asked, "Will they take the bait?"

Everyone watched as she closed her eyes and became very still. When they opened again, she was certain.

"He'll track the truck. The woman will follow the Volvo. We should be able to leave after that."

"Let's go." Carlisle began to walk toward the kitchen.

But Edward caught Beau in his iron grip, crushing him to his chest. He seemed unaware of his watching family as he pulled Beau's face to his own. For the shortest second, the icy lips burned against his. Then it was over. The glorious eyes went blank, curiously dead, and Edward turned away.

And then they were gone.

The remaining Cullens looked away as tears streaked down his face. The silence dragged on until a phone vibrated. Esme brought it to her ear and listened.

"Now."

Rosalie stalked out without another glance, but Esme touched his cheek as she passed.

"Be safe." Her whisper lingered as they slipped out the door.

They waited some more. Beau lifted a sleeve of Edward's shirt to wipe his eyes and breathed in the scent that clung to it. Then Alice answered her own buzzing phone.

"Edward says the woman is on Esme's trail. I'll get the car."

Then only Jasper remained with him. The two looked at each other in silence. Jasper stood across the length of the entryway from him . . . being careful.

"You're wrong, you know."

"What?"

"I can feel what you're feeling now—and you _are_ worth it."

"I'm not," Beau shook his head. "If anything happens to them, it will be for nothing."

"You're wrong," Jasper repeated, smiling kindly.

Alice returned and approached Beau with a cautious air. Her arms were open.

"May I?"

"You're the first one to ask permission," Beau said wryly.

The feeling of ridiculousness returned until Alice scooped him up as easily as Emmett and Edward had done. She shielded him protectively and they flew out the door, leaving the bright lights of the Cullen stronghold behind.


	17. Phone Call

His thoughts were hazy.

Beau woke up, confused, still twisted in dreams and nightmares. He had no memory of coming to this room, of climbing face-down onto the cheap fabric of the hotel bedspread, of the depressing watercolor prints that always lined the walls in these in-between places.

He did remember the sleek black Mercedes racing across the highway. He remembered Alice sitting with him in the backseat, and somehow during the night, his head ending up in her lap. The closeness didn't seem to bother her at all, and the cool, hard skin was oddly comforting to him. Alice stroked his hair while he cried, smoothing the curls like Renée used to do.

Beau lay still as the promise of sleep faded away. His mind replayed all the unbearable things—Charlie's broken expression, Edward's brutal snarl, Rosalie's resentful glare, the keen-eyed scrutiny of the tracker, the dead look in Edward's eyes after they kissed for the last time . . . he couldn't stand to watch any of it.

He was barely awake when they crossed the border into Canada. The cold had cut through the interior of the car, chilling him, as he remembered James and his coven had passed through this way days earlier.

Beau remembered the beginning of the crossing the harbor . . . but not the end. That must have been when he fell asleep. There was a vague impression of his arm draped over Alice's shoulder, her arm pressed firm to his back, and the two stumbling through a parking garage.

Beau slid off the bed and went to the window. He was still wearing Edward's clothes, and they were crumpled after hours of tossing and turning. He didn't want to change out of them yet. Beau clung to the fading scent of Edward in near desperation. Anything to stave off the guilt of the gigantic crater he blew into their lives.

A light tap on the door made him jump.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Alice studied him. "You look like you could sleep longer."

Beau shook his head. He watched her drift silently to the drapes and pull them closed. "We'll need to stay inside."

His voice was hoarse. "Okay."

"Thirsty?"

Beau shrugged. "I'm okay. How are you?"

"Nothing unmanageable." Alice smiled. "I ordered some food for you. Edward reminded me that you have to eat a lot more frequently than we do."

At once he was more alert. "He called?"

"No," she said, watching his face fall. "It was before we left."

Alice led him to the living room of the hotel suite. The TV was set to the news at a low volume. Jasper sat watching the screen with no glimmer of interest.

Beau grabbed the first thing he could reach from the tray of food. It had no taste at all. Only sustenance.

He watched Alice perch on the arm of the sofa and stare blankly at the television like Jasper. They were both too still.

Beau pushed the food away as his stomach churned. Alice turned in his direction.

"What's wrong, Alice?"

"Nothing's wrong." Her eyes were wide, honest . . . and he didn't trust them.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for Carlisle to call."

"Shouldn't he have called by now?" Beau suspected he was near the mark as Alice's eyes flitted from him to the cell phone and back.

"What does that mean, that he hasn't called yet?"

"It just means that they don't have anything to tell us."

Her voice was too even. Beau inhaled sharply as possibilities swirled through his mind. Suddenly Jasper was there, closer to Beau than usual.

"Beau, you have nothing to worry about. You are completely safe here."

"I know that."

"Then why are you frightened?" Jasper might sense the tenor of emotions, but he couldn't read the reasoning behind them.

"You heard what Laurent said. James is lethal. What if something goes wrong and they get separated? If something happens to any of them, Carlisle, Emmett . . . Edward . . . "

Beau gulped, struggling to get the words out. "If that wild female hurts Esme . . . how could I live with myself when it's my fault? None of you should be risking yourselves for me—"

"Beau, Beau, stop," Jasper cut in, the words pouring out so quickly that they were hard to understand. "You're worrying about all the wrong things, Beau. Trust me on this—none of us are in jeopardy. You're under too much strain as it is; don't add to it with wholly unnecessary worries. Listen! Our family is strong. Our only fear is losing you."

"But why should you—"

Alice touched his cheek. "It's almost been a century that Edward's been alone. Now he's found you. You can't see the changes that we see, we who have been with him for so long. Do you think any of us want to look into his eyes for the next hundred years if he loses you?"

Beau felt the guilt subsiding as she spoke. But even as the artificial calm spread over him, he knew he couldn't trust his feelings with Jasper there.

It was a very long day.

The group never left the room. Alice called down to decline housekeeping services. The windows stayed shut, TV on, though no one bothered to watch. Food came at regular intervals but Beau couldn't touch it. The silver phone on Alice's bag seemed to grow bigger as the hours passed.

His babysitters handled the suspense better than he did. While he paced, they grew more still, only their eyes following his every movement.

Beau went back to bed for something to do, hoping that once away from Jasper's supervision, he could give into the terrible fears hovering on the edge of his consciousness. But Alice followed him as if she grew tired of the living room at the same time. That made Beau wonder what kind of instructions Edward had given her as they parted.

He ignored her presence at first. It was easy—he took up so much of the bed that she could only carve out a small space without touching him. But the panic returned soon enough and he needed something else to focus on.

"Alice?"

"Yes?"

He worked to keep his voice calm. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Carlisle wanted to lead James as far south as possible, wait for him to get close, then turn around for an ambush. Esme and Rosalie were supposed to lead the female east. If she turned back, they were to return to Forks and keep an eye on your dad. They won't call if there's any chance the female will overhear. So I imagine they're all just being very careful. I'm watching to see if Laurent turns tail to help, but it looks like he really is on his way to Alaska."

"Do you think they're all safe, really?"

"Beau, how many times do we have to tell you there's no danger to us?"

Beau scoffed. "Would you tell me the truth, though?"

"Yes. I will always tell you the truth." Her voice was earnest.

He deliberated for a long moment. She appeared to mean it.

"Tell me then . . . how do you become a vampire?"

The question caught her off guard. Alice was quiet. He rolled over to look at her face, studying the ambivalent expression he found there.

"Edward doesn't want me to tell you that."

"That's not fair. I think I have a right to know."

"I know . . . he'll be _extremely _angry."

Beau hesitated for a moment then reached over and took her hand. Somehow he thought it made her gift stronger—touch.

"It's none of his business. This is between you and me. Alice, as a friend, I'm begging you."

Alice looked at him with her splendid, wise eyes . . . choosing. They were friends now, somehow—she must have known they would be all along.

"I'll tell you the mechanics of it, but I don't remember it myself. I've never done it, or seen it done. So keep that in mind that I can only tell you the theory."

Beau waited. The promise of a new clue to the Cullen mysteries was enough to distract him from external threats.

"As predators, we have a glut of weapons in our physical arsenal—much, much more than really necessary. The strength, the speed, the acute senses . . . not to mention those of us like Edward, Jasper, and I, who have extra senses as well. And then, like a carnivorous flower, we are physically attractive to our prey."

It wasn't an accident, then, how much pleasure he took from Edward's physicality, his beauty. It was biological. It was the grand design—nature, God, or the Big Bang—whatever was responsible for vampires made them the apex predators. No natural enemies apart from their own kind. And Beau? Just one weak link on the cosmic food chain.

_Stupid lamb_, he thought.

Alice smiled a wide, ominous smile, and her teeth glistened. "We have another fairly superfluous weapon—we're also venomous. The venom doesn't kill . . . it's merely incapacitating. It works slowly, spreading through the bloodstream, so that once bitten, our prey is in too much physical pain to escape us. A mostly superfluous weapon, however. If we're that close, our prey doesn't escape. Of course, there are always exceptions. Carlisle, for example."

"So . . . if the venom is left to spread . . . "

"It takes a few days for the transformation to be complete, depending on how much venom is in the bloodstream, how close it enters the heart," Alice nodded. "As long as the heart keeps beating, the poison spreads, healing, changing the body as it moves through it. Eventually the heart stops and the conversion is finished. But all that time, every minute of it, the victim would be wishing for death."

Beau shivered. He knew the feeling well, remembering when he wished he could just . . . slip away. But it was a different kind of venom that brought upon his attack in Phoenix.

"It's not pleasant, you see."

"Edward said it was very hard to do . . . I don't quite understand," Beau said.

"We're like sharks in a way. Once we taste the blood, or even smell it, it becomes very hard to keep from feeding. Sometimes impossible. So you see, to actually bite someone, to taste the blood, it would begin a frenzy. It's difficult on both sides. Bloodlust on the one hand, the awful pain on the other."

"Why do you think you can't remember?"

"I don't know," she murmured, looking almost wistful. "For everyone else, the pain of the transformation is the sharpest memory they have of their human life. I remember nothing of being human."

The minutes ticked by. The two lay silently, side by side, wrapped in their individual meditations.

Then, without warning, Alice leapt from the bed, landing lightly on her feet.

"Something's changed." Her voice was urgent; she wasn't talking to Beau anymore.

Alice reached the door the same time Jasper did. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her to the edge of the bed. Beau sat up to watch. Alice's dark eyes were focused on something far away.

"What do you see?"

"I see a room. It's long, and there are doors everywhere. So many . . . the walls are two different colors. The floor is made of wood. He's in the room, he's waiting."

Beau had no doubt who _he_ was and shivered again. James.

"Where is the room?"

"I don't know. Something is missing—another decision hasn't been made yet."

Jasper took her hand in both of his and held it to his chest. "How much time?"

"It's soon. It all depends. He's waiting for something. And he's in the dark now."

Jasper's voice was calm and methodical during his questioning. He caressed her small hand as if to woo her. "What is he doing?"

"He's watching TV . . . no, he's running a VCR, in the dark, in another place."

"Can you see where he is?"

"No," Alice was brimming with confidence that Jasper no doubt supplied. "It's too dark."

"And the first room, what else is there?"

"Just the doors and the walls. Blue . . . blue and gold. There's something painted on one of them. He's touching the VCR there, but he doesn't watch the way he does in the dark room. This is the room where he waits." Her eyes drifted, then focused on Jasper's face.

_Fair is foul, and foul is fair_. Beau imagined the weird sisters offstage, waiting in the wings, watching one of their own.

"There's nothing else?"

Alice shook her head. She and Jasper looked at each other, motionless. Beau cleared his throat.

"What does that mean?"

"It means the tracker's plans have changed. He's made a decision that will lead him to these rooms."

_Hover through the fog and filthy air._

His head was spinning as he imagined her visions. Did they play through her mind like the silent films from a bygone era, like the train that scared an entire theater? Or were they fast with crazy colors, quick cuts, like MTV?

Beau struggled to understand the complexity of her second sight. Edward told him the future could always change. But by how much?

"And we don't know where those rooms are?"

"No."

Alice's voice was bleak. "But we do know that he'll elude the hunting party in Phoenix."

"Should we call?"

And then the phone rang. Alice was across the room before Beau could lift his head to follow her path. She held it to her ear, listening.

"Carlisle . . . yes . . . I just saw him," she paced as she described the vision. "Whatever made him get on that plane . . . it was leading him to those rooms. Yes. Beau?"

Alice held the phone out to him; he ran to it. "Hello?"

"Beau," Edward said.

"Edward! I was so worried."

"Beau," a frustrated sigh came over the line. "I told you not to worry about anything but yourself."

It was so good to hear that voice, even when he was being scolded. "Where are you?"

"We're outside of Mesa. Beau, I'm sorry—we lost him. He seems suspicious of us—he's careful to stay just far enough away that I can't hear what he's thinking."

"I know. Alice said he got away."

"You don't have to worry, though. He won't find anything that can lead him to you. You just have to stay there and wait till we find him again."

"I'll be fine," Beau insisted. "Is Esme with Charlie?"

"Yes—the female was in town. She went to the house, but Charlie was at work. She hasn't gone near him, so don't be afraid. He's safe with Esme and Rosalie watching."

The idea of the wild female prowling through the house—_his_ house—made his stomach turn. The memory of the night he spent in Edward's arms was punctuated with thoughts of Victoria moving through the rooms, sleek as a snake, slithering toward them in the dark.

"What is she doing?"

"Probably trying to pick up the trail. She's been all through the town during the night. Rosalie traced her to the airport, all the roads around Forks, the school . . . she's digging, Beau, but there's nothing to find."

"And you're sure Charlie's safe?"

"Yes, Esme won't let him out of her sight. And we'll be there soon. If the tracker gets anywhere near Forks, we'll be right on his trail."

"I miss you," Beau whispered.

"I know, Beau. Believe me, I know. It's like you've taken half of my self away with you."

"Come and get it, then."

"Soon, as soon as I possibly can. I _will_ make you safe first." His voice was hard.

"I love you."

"Could you believe that, despite everything I've put you through, I love you, too?"

Beau exhaled. "Yes, I can actually."

"I'll come for you soon."

"I'll be waiting," he promised.

The line went dead. The brief flicker of happiness at hearing Edward's voice abruptly vanished.

Beau turned to give the phone back. He found Jasper and Alice leaning over the coffee table where she was sketching on a piece of hotel stationary.

She drew a room: long, rectangular, with rows and rows of doors. The thin wooden planks that made up the floor stretched lengthwise across the room. Posters and aspirational messages lined the walls.

Beau recognized the familiar shapes. "It's a locker room."

"Do you know it?" Jasper's voice was calm but held an undercurrent of something else. Alice bent her head to her work, the pencil flying across the page now, the low benches taking shape under her careful hand.

"You know it, too," Beau pointed beyond the edge of the paper. "The door to the showers is here. This one is the emergency exit, and that one goes out to the main gymnasium."

Alice and Jasper were staring at him. He started to feel impatient. "Come on. It's the Forks gym locker room. The Spartan mural goes . . . here."

The two looked thunderstruck. Beau supposed they wriggled out of gym class somehow; Carlisle's influence might have been enough pressure for Ms. Cope to excuse the entire family from physical education.

"What's the connection?"

Beau shrugged. "I'm there every day for Gym, but other than that, nothing."

He had enough locker room horrors in Phoenix to last a lifetime. No need to bring that to light again. If there was a line between normal and a breakdown, he was getting close to it every minute.

"Alice, is that phone safe?"

"Yes," she assured him. "The number would just trace back to Washington."

"Can I use it to call my dad?"

"Is that . . . " Alice paused. "Is that such a good idea?"

"I don't know," Beau confessed. "I said some things I really . . . regret. He'll probably be out, but I thought I could leave a message."

"Jasper?"

He thought about it. "I don't think there's any way it could hurt—just be sure you don't say where you are, of course."

Beau eagerly dialed the number. It rang four times until the voicemail picked up. He listened to the recording of Charlie's easy, friendly voice, and closed his eyes.

"Dad," he said after the beep. "It's me. I need to talk to you. As soon as you get this message, call me at this number."

Alice was already at his side, writing the number at the bottom of her sketch. He read it twice.

"Don't worry, I'm okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late you get this call, all right? I love you, Dad. Bye."

Beau settled into the sofa, anticipating a long evening. He thought about calling his mother, but he didn't have their number in Florida yet, and she wasn't the best at checking her messages.

Immortality must grant endless patience. Neither Jasper nor Alice seemed to feel the need to do anything at all. Alice sketched the dark room for a while, but when that was done, she sat staring at the blank walls. Jasper sat beside her as his timeless eyes flickered between the drawing and Beau.

He must have fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for the phone to ring. He woke to the touch of Alice's cold hands carrying him to bed, but he was unconscious again before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Beau felt like his days were running together. Day was night and night was day. _Fair is foul, and foul is fair. _

He lay in bed and listened to the quiet voices of Alice and Jasper in the other room for a while. Then he rolled out of bed and staggered into the living room.

It was just after two in the morning. Alice and Jasper were sitting on the sofa. She was sketching again while he looked over her shoulder. Neither looked up when Beau approached; they were too engrossed in Alice's work.

"Did she see something more?"

"Yes. Something's brought him back to the room with the VCR, but it's light now."

He watched Alice draw what appeared to be a living room. There was an armchair, a long, dated couch, and a small fireplace. Above the fireplace was a row of pictures . . .

"The phone goes there," Beau whispered.

Two pairs of eternal eyes stared at him.

"That's my house."

Alice was already off the couch, phone in hand, dialing. He stared at the precise rendering of his father's living room. Uncharacteristically, Jasper slid closer, pressing a light hand to Beau's shoulder. He had been right yesterday—physical contact seemed to make vampiric abilities stronger. The panic became dull and unfocused.

"Jasper . . . "

He and Beau looked up at her tone. She was staring at the phone, terrified. "I can't get through to Esme or Rosalie."

"The female must be toying with the both of them. Call Carlisle," Jasper commanded, pressing on Beau's shoulder so hard it was starting to hurt. But the fear started to battle his calming touch; Beau moaned.

"Alice—"

Alice spoke quickly into the phone, nodded a few times, then hung up.

"Beau, Edward is coming to get you. He and Emmett and Carlisle are going to take you somewhere, to hide you for a while."

"Edward is coming?" The words were like a life vest, holding his head above the flood.

"Yes, he's catching the first flight out of Sky Harbor. Once we check out, we'll meet him at the airport. Then you'll leave with him."

"I can't win, Alice. You can't guard everyone I know forever. Don't you see what he's doing? He's not tracking me at all. He'll find someone, he'll hurt someone I love . . . Alice, I can't—"

"We'll catch him, Beau."

"And what if you get hurt, Alice?" he yelled. "Do you think that's okay with me? Do you think it's only my human family he can hurt me with?"

Alice looked meaningfully at Jasper. A deep, heavy fog of lethargy washed over Beau, and his eyes closed without his permission. His mind struggled against the fog when he realized what was happening. He forced his eyes open and stood up, stepping away from Jasper's hand.

"I don't want to go back to sleep," he snapped.

Beau walked to the bedroom and slammed the door. This time Alice didn't follow him. For three and a half hours he stared at the wall, his mind going in circles, trying to come up with a way out of this nightmare. There was no escape. He could only see one possible end looming. The only question was how many other people would be hurt before he reached it.

The one solace, his only hope remaining to him, was the fact he would see Edward soon. Maybe, if he could just see his face again, Beau would also be able to find the solution that eluded him.

Beau returned to the living room when the phone rang. He was ashamed of his behavior and disheveled appearance; both made him feel undeserving of protection. He hoped he hadn't offended either Alice or Jasper, and that they knew how grateful he was for the sacrifices being made for him.

It was five-thirty in the morning. Alice was talking rapidly into the phone, but for the first time, Jasper was not in the room.

Alice hung up and smiled reassuringly at Beau. "They're boarding their plane. It lands just before ten."

Only a few more hours to keep breathing until Edward arrived.

"Where's Jasper?"

"He went to check out."

His stomach twisted uneasily at her words. But the phone rang again, distracting him.

"Hello?" Alice asked. She listened, then relaxed. "No, he's right here."

_Your father_, she mouthed. Beau nodded.

"Hello?"

"Beau? Beau?"

Beau sighed with relief. He expected his father to read him the riot act now that he had some time to think. He would take anything Charlie threw at him. If he was making a phone call, that meant Victoria wasn't around or at the very least, far enough away to be safe. Then his stomach flipped when he remembered the radio silence from Esme and Rosalie. He had to pull it together.

"Calm down, Dad," he said soothingly as he walked away from Alice. "Everything is fine, okay? Just give me a minute . . . Dad?"

"Be careful not to say anything until I tell you to."

The voice he heard now was unfamiliar and unexpected. It was pleasant, generic—the kind of voice one heard in the background of luxury car commercials. The voice spoke very quietly.

"Now, I don't need to hurt your father, so please do exactly as I say, and he'll be fine." He paused for a minute while Beau listened in mute horror. "That's very good. Now repeat after me, and do try to sound natural. Please say, 'No Dad, stay where you are.'"

"No, Dad, stay where you are." His voice was just above a whisper.

"I can see this is going to be difficult." The voice was amused. "Why don't you walk into another room now so your face doesn't ruin everything? There's no reason for your father to suffer. As you're walking, please say, 'Dad, please listen to me.' Say it now."

"Dad, please listen to me," he pleaded. He walked to the bedroom, feeling Alice's worried eyes on his back. He shut the door and tried to think through the terror that gripped him.

"There now, are you alone? Just answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"But they can still hear you, I'm sure."

"Yes," Beau murmured, staring at the closed door. He longed for Alice to burst in with a plan to thwart this tracker, but knew without a doubt that it was a pipe dream. James had leverage now.

"All right, then, say 'Dad, trust me.'"

"Dad, trust me."

"This worked out better than I expected. I was prepared to play a little longer, but it's easier this way, isn't it? Less suspense, less anxiety for you."

Beau waited.

"Now I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to need you to get away from your friends; do you think you can do that? Answer yes or no."

"No."

"I'm sorry to hear that." He sounded like a teacher disappointed by his favorite student. "I was hoping you would be a little more creative than that. Do you think you could get away from them if your father's life depended on it? Answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"That's better. I'm sure it won't be easy, but if I get the slightest hint that you have any company, well, that would be very bad for your father," the friendly voice promised. "You must know enough about us by now to realize how quickly I would know if you tried to bring anyone along with you. And how little time I would need to deal with your father if that was the case. Do you understand? Answer yes or no."

His voice broke. "Yes."

"Very good, Beau. You know where you need to go, don't you?"

Of course. Beau already knew how his story would end.

"Can you do that? Answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"It's important, now, that you don't make your friends suspicious when you go back to them. Tell them that your father called, and that you talked him out of coming after you. Now repeat after me, 'Thank you, Dad.' Say it now."

"Thank you, Dad."

"Say 'I love you, Dad. I'll see you soon.' Say it now."

"I love you, Dad. I'll see you soon," Beau promised.

"Goodbye, Beau. I look forward to seeing you again." He hung up.

The phone was still at his ear. He couldn't unlock his fingers from that position. Beau knew he had to think, to do _something_, but the sound of Charlie and his panic was the most unbearable pain he had ever experienced.

He had no guarantees, nothing to keep his father alive. He could only hope that James would be satisfied with winning the game. That beating Edward, his marked rival, would be enough.

Beau was struck with despair. There was nothing he could bargain with. Nothing he could offer or withhold to influence him. He had no choice; he had to try.

Beau drew himself to his full height. Pushed the terror deep into the recesses of his mind and locked it away. Choked back the mounting dread at the next—the last—hours of his life. He survived a brutal beating and lived to reinvent himself. He started rebuilding the relationship with his father. He fell in love. All decisions he made and stuck with.

This decision was made. It did no good to waste time agonizing over the outcome.

He had to think clearly now. Alice and Jasper were capable hunters themselves. Evading them was essential, and absolutely impossible. He had to produce some type of diversion, flee their watchful eyes, and get back to Forks as soon as possible.

Beau was grateful that Jasper was gone during the call. He might have felt his anguish and grown suspicious. No doubt he set off alarm bells yesterday by identifying the room so quickly.

He concentrated on his escape. There was one tiny advantage Beau could work with. Checkout at hotels took a notoriously long time; it was as regular as the seasons. No amount of anger or bribing moved the line faster. Somehow, in that small sliver of time, he'd have to slip away from them . . .

But he had to accept one more thing in private, before Jasper was back. He had to accept that he wouldn't see Edward again, not even one last glimpse of his face to carry him to the end. No chance to say goodbye. Beau let these torturous thoughts have their way for time, locked them away again, then went to face Alice.

"My dad got my message; he was worried. But it's okay, I convinced him everything is fine." His voice was dull . . . and dead.

"Don't worry, Beau. Esme will call us soon. If Charlie's calling you, he has to be okay. That's a good thing."

Beau looked away, knowing Jasper wasn't the only one could read him. His eyes landed on the hotel stationary. A new decision emerged—a new plan.

"Alice . . . if I write a letter for my dad, would you post it for me? In case I don't talk to him for awhile?"

"Sure, Beau." Her voice was careful. She could see him coming apart at the seams. Fortunately, he had plenty of reasons to do so, and that wasn't suspicious.

Beau went back to the bedroom with the stationary. His hands shook as he wrote.

_Edward,_

_I love you. I am so sorry. He has my dad, and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so very, very sorry._

_Don't be angry with Alice and Jasper. If I get away from them it will be a miracle. Tell them thank you for me. Alice especially, please._

_I love you. Forgive me._

_Beau_

Beau folded up the letter and sealed it in an envelope. Eventually Edward would find it. Beau only hoped he would understand, and listen just this once.

And then he carefully sealed away his heart.


	18. Dead Man Walking

It had taken a lot less time than he thought—all the terror, the despair, the shattering of his heart. Jasper still hadn't come back when Beau returned to Alice. He was afraid to be in the same room as her, afraid that she would guess . . . and afraid to hide from her for the same reason.

Beau thought he was far beyond the ability to be surprised while his thoughts were so tortured and unstable. But it did surprise him to see Alice bent over the desk, her white hands trembling. Another vision. The desk began to groan in her grip.

"Alice?"

She didn't react to her own name. Her eyes were blank, dazed . . . his thoughts went to Charlie. Was he already too late?

The door flew open and suddenly Jasper was there, his hands curling to take hers away from the desk. There were deep grooves in the surface from Alice's fingers.

"Alice, what is it?"

She turned her face into his chest. "Beau."

"I'm right here," he told Alice, taking another step toward the couple. Her head twisted around, eyes locking into Beau's, the expression in hers strangely blank. He realized at once she hadn't been speaking to him. She'd been answering Jasper's question.

"What did you see?" His voice was flat. Uncaring.

Jasper studied the two of them, feeling the chaos . . . for Beau was sure Alice had seen the end. _His_ end. A gentle tranquility settled over him, and Beau welcomed it, using the strange peace to keep his emotions disciplined. Eventually Alice recovered, though he knew he had seen more than she intended.

"Nothing really," she answered. It was almost convincing. "Just the same room as before."

Then she became a pod person, as if the last three minutes that passed were of no importance. "Did you want breakfast?"

"No, I'll eat later." He was as calm as she was trying to be. Beau retreated to the bathroom to shower. It was obvious that Alice was desperate to be alone with Jasper, to tell him something was going awry, that they were going to fail . . .

The peaceful mood Jasper created allowed him to keep a clear head. Beau went on autopilot. He had a checklist and went through each task methodically. First he put on the Mariners cap because it made him feel brave. Then he tied his shoes. He pocketed the last of his cash and shoved his passport down his shirt.

Beau was anxious to get going. Jasper had uncharacteristically given up earlier when he tried to check out, providing a brief moment of levity when he confessed to this failure on the way down to the lobby. Alice pushed him back into the line—which, judging from Jasper's grimace, was longer than it had been before—and sat with Beau in the stylish waiting area. She was jumpy, her eyes darting between him and Jasper every few seconds.

Beau set his bag down next to hers, thinking. "Alice?"

She was wary. "Yes?"

"How does it work? The things that you see? Edward said it wasn't definite . . . that things change?"

"Yes, things change . . . " she murmured, sounding hopeful. "Some things are more certain than others . . . like the weather. People are harder. I only see the course they're on while they're on it. Once they change their minds—make a new decision, no matter how small—the whole future shifts."

Beau nodded thoughtfully. "So you couldn't see James until he made a decision."

"Yes," she agreed, wary again.

Alice hadn't seen him in the locker room with James until he made the decision to go there. Beau tried not to think about what else she might have seen. He didn't want to create more panic for Jasper to dissect. They would be extra careful with him now.

Jasper and Alice were uniquely gifted vampires. But despite these abilities, they couldn't force the tired concierge to move faster. Restless, Alice called the flight status number every few minutes, tutting when she received the same automated message. Jasper's impatience was clear even from across the lobby; the nervous humans behind him in line gave him a wide berth.

Beau anxiously waited for an opportunity. He couldn't stop fidgeting. Every time he shifted in his seat, he knew Alice was watching him closely, as if anticipating a jailbreak.

It was hopeless. Should he run? Would they risk exposure and make a scene? Beau weighed the options lightly, never landing on one decision for too long before changing his mind.

Beau pulled the unmarked envelope out of his pocket. "Alice, can I put this in your purse?"

She nodded, her eyes now fixed on the concierge. Beau pulled on the zipper and struggled against an odd surge of guilt; Renée always warned him about going through a lady's purse. Carefully, without putting too much thought into the decision, he took hold of the car keys and let them slide down his sleeve. Then, almost indifferently, he swiped their passports, too.

Edward's flight grew closer by the minute. It was amazing how his body seemed to know Edward was coming, to long for this arrival. To anticipate his touch. That made this decision all the more difficult. Beau found himself trying to think of excuses to go to the airport as planned. To stay just long enough to get a glimpse of him. But he knew that was impossible. It would be hard enough to get away from two vampires.

Several times Alice offered to go to the hotel breakfast buffet with him. Later, he told her, not yet. He had no appetite now. Beau stared at his watch instead, calculating how long the drive back to Forks would be, and, when they caught on, how long it would take Alice and Jasper to catch up. He figured the lack of passports would at the very least complicate their pursuit.

Then Jasper was second in line at the counter. Beau had no more time.

"I think I'll eat now."

Alice stood up with him. "I'll come with you."

"Do you mind if Jasper comes instead?" he asked. "I'm feeling a little . . . "

He didn't have to finish; his expression was wild enough to convey what he didn't say. Alice's eyes were confused but not yet suspicious. She must have attributed a change in her vision to some maneuver of the tracker rather than a betrayal by Beau. Sighing, she went up to Jasper and traded places with him in line. He looked delighted to be relieved of the task.

Jasper walked silently alongside him. His hand rested on the small of Beau's back as if to guide him. _Guide_, he thought, _or detain_.

The two walked through the labyrinth of hotel hallways until they found the restaurant buffet. Jasper blanched at the length of the new line, but he had no choice than to grab a plate and blend in.

Beau glanced back at the door of the restaurant. They passed the bathrooms and a red Exit sign on the way in. An exit door to the parking garage beckoned, but first, he had to slip past his bodyguard. Beau cleared his throat.

"I'm going to use the restroom first."

"I'll come with," Jasper said at once, eyeing the scones and pastries with obvious distaste. Beau couldn't help but agree with his assessment—despite the five star rating, this hotel was just like any other—crap food.

"Um, actually, can you save my place in line? I'm really hungry."

"I'll . . . be right here," Jasper said reluctantly. Beau wasn't sure if it was the food or his charge leaving that worried him.

Beau walked toward the doors and fell into step behind a group of teenagers headed in the same direction. He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Jasper studying the tray of scrambled eggs in disgust. Beau edged past the other boys and escaped out the exit door.

He only had a vague memory of leaving the car. Beau started to panic at the thought of wandering through five floors of the garage; he didn't have that kind of time. But he thought it made sense for the Cullens to park on the first floor. It was the lowest to the ground, provided shade if required, and allowed for the one thing he needed—a quick getaway.

His instincts were correct. The Mercedes sat waiting for him near the entrance of the garage. There was only one small problem: the garage had a gate arm that required payment to open up. He imagined Alice's expression when she found him digging through the car for the parking ticket.

Beau took a deep breath and floored the accelerator, tires squealing, wincing as the grille made quick work of the gate. It dragged behind the Mercedes for a few seconds before laying limp in the street, abandoned.

Beau hoped Carlisle wouldn't hate him too much for destroying his car.

No one came chasing after him as he drove, so Beau assumed he was in the clear for at least a few minutes. There was no way to know if Alice and Jasper were looking for him yet. They definitely would have heard the commotion in the garage. He prayed he had enough time to cross into Washington before they caught up.

Luck was with him, or maybe it was just good odds. The roads were clear and his speeding got him to the border in less time than he expected. Beau joined the line of cars and glanced furtively in the rearview mirror. It would look strange for the Cullens to storm up to the Mercedes in front of the border agents. He only hoped they hadn't reported it stolen yet.

There was another problem: Beau was a minor. He couldn't cross the border without a parent or guardian. The memory of entering Canada with the Cullens was fuzzy. He was sure Jasper's influence—and no doubt a large bribe—allowed them to continue last time. He didn't have those advantages today.

He had to do something, and fast. Beau dug around in the glove box and found a pair of expensive-looking aviators. He spun the Mariners cap backwards and pulled up to the checkpoint.

"Passport, sir?"

Beau handed the agent his passport and pushed the sunglasses down his nose. The young woman studied his picture for a few seconds. Her hair was bottle blonde; in fact, she sort of looked like Lauren Mallory. He tried to look at her through his eyelashes like Edward was fond of doing. The dazzling attempt had worked with Jacob; Beau had to prevent her from running the license plates or busting him for being underage.

"Coming home?"

"Yep," Beau flashed her what he hoped was a flirtatious smile. "Had a little fender bender. Gotta to take it back to the dealership, you know how it goes."

The agent glanced at the grille of the Mercedes. She seemed to be torn between sympathy and scorn. "Yeah, that'll set you back a few bucks. Might have to ask Daddy for the same one in red."

"Totally." Beau fought to keep smiling. "Black is so not my color, you know?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Drive on, kid."

Beau was almost breathless with relief. He kept his speed reasonable until the border fell out of sight. Then he put his foot to the floor to test the powerful engine. He was beginning to understand why the Cullens liked fast cars.

When Beau first learned to drive, he remembered doing it white-knuckled. His back was always tense and straight. He drove slowly, even on highways, terrified of hitting something and forcing his mother to pay higher insurance premiums. But somewhere along the way, his body remembered what to do, and his mind could wander. It became an introspective activity. A way to clear his head.

Beau couldn't help but picture the moment Edward got off the plane. Alice and Jasper would be waiting for him, their thoughts betraying them before the passengers even got off the runway. Edward would be livid with his siblings, and that thought made Beau cringe. He knew how angry Edward could become.

He breathed deeply, allowing the triumph of his escape its due. There was no point in indulging in more terror. The decision was made; his path set. All that remained was to follow through.

Twice he thought he saw Big Red in the rearview, but he was only imagining it. He was sure the Cullens would have left it to rust in Phoenix in their haste to get back. The truck couldn't handle this speed, anyway.

There was a ferry across the Puget Sound he did not anticipate. The extra travel time stressed him out, but once they set off, he relaxed.

Beau decided to spend the rest of the journey with Edward.

He imagined a different decision. This time, he stayed with Alice and Jasper, and went along to pick up Edward at the airport. Beau was tall, so he would see Edward before the other two. Edward could move quickly and gracefully through the crowds. Beau would close the distance—reckless as always—and then the marble arms would close around him. Finally safe.

Beau wondered where Edward planned to take him. Most likely north somewhere, so he could be outside during the day. Or maybe somewhere very remote, on some distant shore, where they could lay in the sun together again. Edward's skin would sparkle by the sea. And it wouldn't matter how long they had to hide. Being trapped in a hotel room with Edward would be some kind of heaven. Beau still had so many questions to ask. They would talk forever, not stopping for sleep, always side-by-side.

He could see his face so clearly now . . . almost hear his voice. Despite his horror and hopelessness, Beau was fleetingly happy. He once told Edward that he was good at repressing bad things. This daydream reminded him of why he made this decision in the first place.

Their last words had been that they loved each other. That was enough to carry him down the coast.

But soon, the highway signs for Forks punctured his fantasy. He was so involved in the escapist daydreams that he lost track of time. Fear, bleak and hard, was waiting to fill the empty space.

Beau took a strangled breath and kept an eye out for the silver Volvo or a flash of red hair. They had not heard from Esme or Rosalie in far too long. Their radio silence could only mean two things—either she was close enough to hear them or they were fighting her. Could Esme and Rosalie handle her wildness, her ferocity? His stomach plunged at the thought. She had James here for backup now.

He parked in front of Charlie's house. The cruiser was missing and the lights were dark. He peered cautiously through the windshield but saw nothing. Everything inside the house looked the same. There was no sign of a struggle. The TV was on, which was strange; Charlie, in typical father fashion, was fastidious about turning off lights and appliances when they weren't being used. Beau pressed the button to turn it off then hurried up the stairs.

His Little League aluminum bat was in its usual corner. Beau had kept his regulation bat under his bed in Phoenix since the attack, waiting, perhaps foolishly, for a second one. Back then, Beau thought his teammates were evil. He had no idea that something far worse existed in the world. Beau shoved the bat into his school backpack, slung it over his shoulders, and raced down the stairs.

There was no time to look back at the house, and he didn't want to. It was empty and stood as a symbol of fear instead of sanctuary. The last person to walk through that door was an enemy.

From the corner of his eye, Beau could almost see Charlie on his knees, adding the snow chains to Big Red. Or there, stowing his gear in the trunk of the cruiser, looking ridiculous but content in his fishing vest and bucket hat.

All happy memories. All gone.

Beau sped through town in the Mercedes, eyes vigilant for both friends and enemies. But he saw no one. It was spring break in Forks and the streets were empty. His classmates would be sleeping in or out of town altogether. He took some solace in the green protective forests of Forks, of home, that lined the roads as he drove.

He parked the Mercedes and hurried to the gymnasium building. On a regular day, this campus was buzzing with life, almost like a mini city. Today it was deserted—hollow, even. He had never felt more alone in his life. But Charlie needed him, and that thought propelled him forward.

Beau pushed the gymnasium door open with a shaking hand. He did this for a few Saturdays earlier in the semester, but now, the idea of being here filled him with dread. It was cruel, and that was exactly the point.

The decorations from the dance were still up. Half deflated balloons, wilting streamers, and empty punch cups lined the floor. Cleanup would no doubt take place this week when the students were gone.

Beau stood still, taking in the familiar sight of this room, a room that used to make him happy. But now terror seized him so strongly that he was literally trapped by it. He couldn't make his feet move forward.

_Dead man walking._

And then his father's voice called.

"Beau? Beau?" It was that same hysterical panic he heard over the phone. His instincts kicked in immediately. Beau sprinted to the locker room toward the noise.

Beau threw one shoulder at the door, staggered into the room, and crashed to the floor. There was Charlie, on the TV screen, tousling his Beau's hair in relief. It was the video from his first Mariners game at the Kingdome. They'd gone together, father and son, and Charlie insisted on recording the occasion. Beau had wandered away from his father into the crowd for a few minutes—every parent's nightmare. "Beau? Beau?" he'd called to him in fear.

"Beau, you scared me! Don't you ever do that to me again!"

And then the TV screen was blue.

Beau pushed himself to his feet. The tracker was standing very still by the back exit, so still that Beau hadn't noticed him at first. He held a remote control in his hand. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then he smiled.

James walked toward him, quite close, then passed by to put the remote down next to the VCR. It was the same television and VCR that Mr. Banner used for his movie day in Biology.

Beau turned carefully to watch James as he returned to his original place by the exit door.

"Sorry about that, Beau, but isn't better that your father really didn't have to be involved in all this?"

His voice was courteous, kind. And then it hit him. Beau had walked right into a trap.

Charlie was fine. He'd never gotten the message, or maybe the redhead had deleted it. Charlie hadn't been subject to a brutal kidnapping or terrified by those dark red eyes. He was probably working, spending time at La Push, or out fishing with friends. He was safe.

"Yes," Beau answered, his voice full of relief.

"You don't sound angry that I tricked you."

"I'm not." The sudden high made him brave. What did it matter now? Soon everything would be over. His parents would never be harmed or have to fear for their lives. Beau felt almost giddy. Some analytical part of his mind warned him that he was dangerously close to snapping from the stress.

"How odd. You really mean it." The ruby red eyes assessed him with interest. "I will give your strange coven this much, you humans can be quite interesting. I guess I can see the draw of observing you. It's amazing—some of you seem to have no sense of your own self-interest at all."

James stood a few feet away, arms folded, looking him over curiously. There was no menace in his face or stance. He was very average. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and faded blue jeans, looking for all the world like an ordinary man. He reminded Beau of the dads who went to every high school baseball game in Phoenix. Only the white skin and odd eyes gave him away.

"I suppose you're going to tell me that your boyfriend will avenge you?" He sounded hopeful.

It was strangely easy to converse with this genteel hunter. "No, I don't think so. At least, I asked him not to."

"And what was his reply to that?"

"I don't know." The bat clanged against his spine as he shrugged. "I left him a letter."

"How romantic, a last letter. And do you think you will honor it?"

The hint of sarcasm made him think James didn't find it romantic at all. But his opinion didn't mean much to Beau.

"I hope so."

"Hmm. Well, our hopes differ then. You see, this was all just a little too easy, too quick. To be quite honest, I'm disappointed. I expected a much greater challenge. And, after all that, I only needed a little luck."

"I'm very sorry you feel that way," Beau said at last.

The posturing was starting to remind him of his old teammates. The braggadocio, the gloating, the sly taunts. In truth, James was a bully, and enjoyed causing the suffering of others.

Something about that was a small comfort to Beau. If bullying was universal across the species, that meant love had to be, too. What he and Edward had was true.

James continued as if he hadn't spoken. "When Victoria couldn't get to your father, I had her find out more about you; in a game with this many players, I couldn't be working alone. There was no sense in running all over the planet chasing you down when I could comfortably wait for you in a place of my choosing. So, after I talked to Victoria, I decided to go to Phoenix. I heard you say you were going home. I never dreamed you meant it, but then I wondered. Humans like to think themselves clever. Wouldn't it be the perfect ploy, to lead me out of town, and run the other way?"

The shine of his snarkiness wore off almost instantly. Sometimes Beau thought he was smarter than he really was.

"But of course I wasn't sure, it was just a hunch. I usually get a feeling about the prey I'm hunting, a sixth sense, if you will. The truck and clothes trick fooled me for a time, I'll give you that. Victoria was close enough to hear your message, but we couldn't be sure where you called from. It was very useful to have your number, but you could have been in Antarctica for all I knew, and the game wouldn't work unless you were close by. By then I was prepared; I'd already been through the home movies. And then it was simply a matter of the bluff."

Beau shifted the backpack on his shoulders as he recalled the phone call. How amusing it must have been for James to know Beau was running toward his own death. If the tracker was bothered by the presence of the bat, he gave no sign of it.

"Very easy, you know, not really up to my standards. So, you see, I'm hoping you're wrong about your boyfriend. Edward, is it?"

Beau didn't answer. The bravado was wearing off. He sensed the end of the gloat was near. The villain speech was only fun when it was given to a heroic rival. There was no glory in beating Beau, a weak human.

"Would you mind, very much, if I left a little letter of my own for your Edward?"

James raised a palm-sized digital video camera to eye level. A small red light indicated it was now running. He adjusted it a few times to widen the frame. Beau's hands were in fists.

"Actually, I mind a lot. The lighting is terrible for my complexion."

This made him laugh. "I understand your reluctance. It was in a locker room, wasn't it? Your attack?"

Beau stared at him in horror. The problem-solving part of his brain found the solution almost instantly: Victoria.

"Most of the school incident report was redacted." James was conversational now as he toyed with the camera's zoom function. "Nothing too exciting in the newspapers. The medical records were harder to get, but my mate can be pretty resourceful when she wants to be. Days after the hospital stay you disappeared from the class roster. It wasn't hard to fill in the blanks."

Beau stared at him with a surge of hatred, watching as the red eye of the camera came closer. He wanted him closer, just a little more . . .

"I'm sorry for the camera, I really am. But I just don't think he'll be able to resist hunting me after he watches this. And I wouldn't want Edward to miss anything. It was all for him, of course. You're simply a human, who unfortunately was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and indisputably running with the wrong crowd, I might add. But, before we begin . . . "

James stepped forward and smiled. _Just a few more feet with that camera . . . _

"I would just like to rub it in, just a little bit. The answer was there all along, and I was so afraid Edward would see that and ruin my fun. It happened once, oh, ages ago. The one and only time my prey escaped me.

"You see, the vampire who was so stupidly fond of this little victim made the choice that your Edward was too weak to make. When the old one knew I was after his little friend, he stole her from the asylum where he worked—I will _never_ understand the obsession some vampires seem to form with you humans—and as soon as he freed her he made her safe. She didn't even seem to notice the pain, poor little creature. She'd been stuck in that black hole of a cell for so long. A hundred years earlier and she would have been burned at the stake for her visions. In the nineteen-twenties it was the asylum and the shock treatments. When she opened her eyes, strong with her fresh youth, it was like she'd never seen the sun before. The old vampire made her a strong new vampire, and there was no reason for me to touch her then." He sighed. "I destroyed the old one in vengeance."

"Alice," Beau breathed, astonished.

"Yes, your little friend. I _was _surprised to see her in the clearing. So I guess her coven ought to be able to derive some comfort from this experience. I get you, but they get her. The one victim who escaped me, quite an honor, actually. And she did smell so delicious. I still regret that I never got to taste . . . she smelled even better than you do. Sorry—I don't mean to be offensive. You have a very nice smell. Floral, somehow . . . "

James was close enough to touch him now. Beau stood motionless as he sniffed one curl then patted the hair back in place behind his ear. The tracker was still unbothered by the bat sticking out of his backpack. The cold, cruel hand stroked his cheek like Edward used to before Gym class. Beau couldn't even flinch away.

"No." James dropped his hand. "I don't understand. Well, I suppose we should get on with it. Then I can call your friends and tell them where to find you, and my little message."

The pain was coming. Beau could see it in his eyes. It wouldn't be enough for him to win, to feed and go. There would be no quick end like he had been hoping. Beau felt his knees shake as James took a step back and set the camera back on the VCR. Then he began to circle, casually, as if he were trying to get a better view of a statue in a museum. Beau stepped back and mimicked him. The two circled, not speaking for a minute. This made James smile. He seemed entertained by the action; it was something he had not expected.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Beau had drawn his aluminum bat and tossed the backpack to the side. He knew vampires moved fast, but he also knew this one enjoyed a challenge, and hoped he would consider it one. Beau rooted his feet shoulder length apart and leaned the bat against his shoulder. For a heartbeat, he could pretend he was at home plate.

James was still smiling. The smile grew until it was nothing but a contortion of teeth, exposed and glistening. "You know that won't work on me."

"I know," Beau said, and swung.

The camera shattered on impact, its jagged pieces flying in every direction. James roared, suddenly a foot away, tossing him aside like a ragdoll. Beau felt his body slam against the lockers. The bat rolled away uselessly to the other side of the room. From his position on the floor, he could see James was examining the camera's wreckage, looking for something to salvage.

Beau forced himself to his feet and tried to run. Alice told him that prey didn't escape when a vampire was so close. As useless as he knew it would be, as weak as his knees already were, panic took over and he bolted for the main gymnasium door. Beau didn't want to die in a locker room.

James caught up in a flash. He threw a crushing blow and struck him hard on the back. Beau flew forward into the glossy wooden floors, face-first, landing with a sickening crack. A few of the planks splintered, stunning him. Something warm trickled down his face and he thought his nose might be broken again.

The tracker walked toward him slowly.

"Very dramatic," he said, observing as Beau struggled to rise. "I thought this was a nice bit of symmetry, you being lured to a locker room again. Yet you are so determined to ruin my little film."

Beau ignored him, still trying to stand. James was at his side immediately, stepping down hard on his leg. He heard the sickening snap before he felt the pain. But then he _did_ feel it and a moan escaped his lips.

James nudged the broken leg and Beau heard a piercing scream. With a shock, he realized it was his own.

"Shame those boys didn't finish what they started. None of this would have ever happened."

The tracker dug a foot into Beau's side, drew back, and kicked him across the room. Beau slid down the wall and collapsed into a heap on the floor. Over the pain of his nose and leg, a new pain ripped sharply across his scalp. The warm wetness, same as the one dripping into his mouth, began to spread through his hair with alarming speed. The smell of it twisted his stomach.

Through the nausea and dizziness, Beau saw something that gave him a sudden, final shred of hope. The darkening eyes, merely intent before, now burned with uncontrollable need. His blood—rapidly pooling crimson on the floor—was driving James mad with thirst. No matter his original intentions, he couldn't draw this out for much longer.

_Let it be quick_, Beau thought, as the room shimmered around the edges of his vision. He heard the final growl of the hunter. A dark shadow stood over him, and with the last bit of strength that remained, Beau raised a hand to protect his face.

His eyes closed, and he drifted.

* * *

**A/N**: Been silent on my author's notes lately, but I read every single review that comes through, and they fill my heart every time. Thank you - a thousand times, thank you.


	19. An Impasse

As Beau drifted, he dreamed.

Where he floated, under the dark water, he heard the happiest sound his mind could conjure up. It was beautiful, uplifting, and ghastly. It was another snarl; a deeper, wilder roar that rang with fury.

Beau felt himself almost surface as a sharp pain slashed his hand. But it wasn't far enough; he couldn't muster enough strength to open his eyes. By then he knew he was dead. Because through the heavy water, he heard the sound of an angel calling his name, beckoning him to the only heaven he wanted.

"Oh no, Beau, no!" The angel's voice cried in horror.

Behind that longed-for sound was another noise—an awful tumult that his mind instinctively shied away from. A vicious bass growling, a shocking snapping sound, and a high keening, suddenly breaking off . . . he tried to concentrate on the angel's voice instead. The angel was begging him now.

"Beau, please! Beau, listen to me, please, please, Beau, please!"

_Yes_, Beau wanted to say. He wanted to say anything. But his lips wouldn't move.

"Carlisle!" the angel's voice broke. "Beau, Beau, no, oh please, no, no!"

He broke into tearless sobs. It was wrong for him to weep. Beau tried to find him, to comfort the poor, frightened creature, but the water was pressing on him, and he couldn't breathe. There was a point of pressure against his head. It hurt. Then, as that pain broke through the darkness to him, other pains came with it, each one stronger than the last. Beau cried out, gasping, as he finally broke through the surface of the dark water.

"Beau!" the angel cried.

"He's lost some blood, but the head wound isn't deep," said a calm voice nearby. "Watch out for his leg, it's broken."

A howl of rage strangled the angel's lips.

Beau felt a sharp stab in his side. This couldn't be heaven—there was too much pain for that.

"Some ribs, too, I think."

But the sharp pains were fading in favor of a new one. This pain was scalding his hand so strongly it overshadowed all the others.

Someone was burning him.

"Edward." His voice was heavy and the name came out garbled. He couldn't understand it himself.

"Beau, you're going to be fine. Can you hear me, Beau? I love you."

"Edward," Beau tried again. His voice was a little clearer this time.

"Yes, I'm here."

"It hurts," he whimpered.

"I know, Beau, I know . . . can't you do anything?"

"My bag, please . . . hold your breath, Alice, it will help," Carlisle promised.

He groaned. "Alice?"

"She's here, she knew where to find you."

"My hand hurts," Beau insisted, almost angry that none of them seemed to understand this fact.

"I know, Beau. Carlisle will give you something, it will stop—"

"My hand is burning!" Beau screamed. Why couldn't they see the fire and put it out?

"Beau?"

He was thrashing now. The pain seized him as he tried to pat it out the way they do on television. But nothing was working. It was burning his hand clean off.

"The fire! Please, someone stop the fire!"

"Carlisle—his hand!"

Edward caught his breath in horror; the doctor's voice was appalled. "He bit him."

"So this is how it happens." It was Alice's voice, close to Beau's ear. Cool fingers brushed at the wetness in his eyes. "Edward, you have to do it."

"No!" Edward bellowed. It wasn't clear which prospect upset him more.

"Alice," Beau moaned.

"There may be a chance," Carlisle said quickly. "See if you can suck the venom back out. The wound is fairly clean."

"Will that work?" Alice's voice was strained.

"I don't know. But we have to hurry."

The venom, Beau thought. The superfluous weapon Alice told him about in Vancouver. The steady, slow, terrible torture that began the vampiric transformation. It was in his blood now. Terror began to claw through his chest.

"Carlisle, I . . . " Edward hesitated, agonized. "I don't know if I can do that."

"It's your decision, Edward, either way. I can't help you. I have to get this bleeding stopped here if you're going to be taking blood from his hand."

Beau writhed in the grip of the fiery torture. The movement set off alarm bells in his leg and the pain flared to a sickening level. Beau didn't know how much more of it he could take.

"Edward, please help me! Please, I trust you!"

Beau forced his eyes open, desperate to see the angel's face, and found it staring down at him. It was a mask twisted with pain and indecision.

"Alice, get me something to brace his leg! Edward, you must do it now, or it will be too late."

The doubt bled out of Edward's eyes. A blazing determination burned there as his jaw tightened with effort. He bent over Beau's hand and pressed his cold lips to the skin.

At first the pain was worse. He screamed and thrashed in the icy grip. Alice and Carlisle tried to soothe him as they held him down.

His thoughts cut back to that dreadful night in the locker room.

Beau knew he was in for it after the game. Coach Turner was adamant about sticking to the plan. He had fumbled the first few pitches, began to improvise, and then everything went to shit.

They usually met in his office, but the email had ordered him to go to the locker room, which usually meant a few hours parked in front of the TV while Turner pointed out his exact mistakes on screen.

It only took one step through the door to know he had made a terrible mistake. A handful of the varsity team stood there waiting, blocking every alternate exit. Even a nervous freshman was there, looking guilty at what he was about to do, but too frightened of the older boys to leave.

Beau didn't try to run like he had with James. He fought them for a little while, throwing a few punches of his own, but there were too many of them. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone, curling up on the floor under the blows.

The anger, humiliation, horror . . . none of that felt as terrible as this venomous fire scourging his hand. It was eating him alive.

Then, slowly, his writhing calmed. His hand went curiously numb. The fire had narrowed into an ever-shrinking point that grew smaller by the second. Beau felt his consciousness slipping as the pain subsided. He was afraid to fall into those black waters again. He was sure he would lose Edward in them, and be lost.

"Edward . . . "

"He's right here, Beau."

"Stay, Edward, stay with me . . . " He tried to make his plea a command, but it sounded unsteady.

"I will," Edward promised, his voice strained, but triumphant.

Beau sighed contentedly. The fire had burnt itself out. The other pains he felt were dulled by a sleepiness seeping through his body.

"Is it all out?"

"His blood tastes clean," Edward said quietly. "I can taste the morphine."

"Beau?" Carlisle asked.

"Mmm?"

"Is the fire gone?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Thank you, Edward."

"I love you."

"I know," Beau answered. He was so tired. Then he heard his favorite sound in the world: Edward's quiet laugh, weak with relief.

"Beau?"

Beau frowned; he wanted to sleep, and all the questions were getting in the way. "What?"

"Where is your father?"

"Safe," he sighed. "James tricked me, Edward. He watched our home videos."

The outrage in his voice was pitifully frail. But that reminded him of something important.

"Alice, the camera—he knew you, Alice, he knew where you came from." Beau meant to speak urgently, but his voice was more feeble than ever. He remembered then that he destroyed the evidence. He had destroyed the only clue to Alice's past. Guiltily, he reached for something else in the haze in his brain, something else that was bothering him.

"I smell gasoline."

"It's time to move him," Carlisle said.

"No, I want to sleep."

"You can sleep, sweetheart, I'll carry you."

And then he was in Edward's arms, cradled against his chest—floating, all the pain gone.

"Sleep now, Beau," were the last words he heard.

* * *

When Beau opened his eyes, he was in an unfamiliar, white room. He was propped up on a hard, uneven bed—a bed with rails. A continuous beeping noise sounded somewhere close by. He hoped this meant he was alive. Death shouldn't be this uncomfortable.

There was something taped across his face. He tried to rip it off, but a pair of cool hands stopped him. "No, you don't."

"Edward?" Beau turned his head to find that exquisite face just inches away. He realized again that he was alive, this time with gratitude and elation, because it meant he could keep company with _him_. "Oh, Edward, I'm sorry!"

"Sssh, everything's all right now."

"What happened?" His mind rebelled when Beau tried to recall the events that brought him here. They hovered on the edge of his consciousness, fuzzy and out of focus.

"I was almost too late. I could have been too late," Edward whispered. His voice was full of torment.

"I was so stupid, Edward," he murmured as the memories became clearer. "I thought he had my dad."

"He tricked us all."

"I need to call Charlie and my mom."

"Alice called them. Renée is here—well, here in the hospital. They both are. Your mother is getting something to eat right now."

"She's here in Forks?" Beau tried to sit up, but his head spun, and Edward pushed him gently back onto the pillows.

"Actually, we're in Olympia. She'll be back soon," he promised. "And you need to stay still."

"But what did you tell her?" Beau asked, panicked, shifting uncomfortably against the lumpy pillows. He had no interest in being soothed. His mother was here and he was recovering from a vampire attack. "Why did you tell her I'm here?"

"A car accident," he paused. "With a truck that old, you have to admit, it could happen. You seem to have unusually bad luck with car accidents, so it was the perfect cover."

"No," Beau moaned. That truck was his first love in Forks, at least before he met Edward. "Well, how bad am I?"

"You have a broken nose, broken leg, four broken ribs, some cracks in your skull, bruises covering every inch of your skin, and you've lost a lot of blood. They gave you a few transfusions. I didn't like it—it made you smell all wrong for a while."

"That must have been a nice change for you."

"No," Edward shook his head. "I like how _you_ smell."

"How did you do it?" Beau knew Edward understood what he meant.

"I'm not sure." Edward looked away, lifting Beau's gauze-wrapped hand and holding it in both of his, careful not to disrupt any wires. His own left shoulder in a sling. "It was impossible . . . to stop. Impossible. But I did. I _must_ love you."

"Do I taste as good as I smell?" Beau grinned. It hurt his face.

Edward's eyes were ruby red. "Even better."

"I'm sorry."

Those same red eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Of all the things to apologize for."

"What _should_ I apologize for?"

The reply was sharp. "For very nearly taking yourself away from me forever."

"I'm sorry," Beau said, chastened.

"I know why you did it. It was still irrational, of course. You should have waited for me. You should have told me."

Beau remembered the letter and flushed. "You wouldn't have let me go."

"No," he agreed grimly. "I wouldn't."

More unpleasant memories surfaced. Beau shuddered and winced at the responding ripple of pain.

"Beau, what's wrong?"

"What happened to James?"

"After I pulled him off you, Emmett and Jasper took care of him." There was a fierce note of regret in his voice.

Beau was confused. "I didn't see them there."

"They had to leave the room . . . there was a lot of blood."

"But you stayed."

"Yes, I stayed."

"And Alice, and Carlisle," Beau said in wonder. The night continued to sharpen in his mind.

"They love you, too, you know."

"Did Alice . . . " He remembered the camera shattering under the force of his swing. "Did you tell Alice?"

Edward nodded. "Yes."

"She was always in the dark, that's why he didn't remember."

"I know. She understands now." His voice was even, but his face as black with fury.

Beau tried to touch him, but something stopped him. An IV line pulled at his hand. "Ugh."

"What is it?"

"Needles," Beau explained. He concentrated on breathing deeply despite the ache between his ribs.

"Afraid of a needle," Edward muttered under his breath. "Oh, a sadistic vampire, intent on torturing him to death, sure, no problem, he runs off to meet him. An _IV_, on the other hand . . . "

Beau rolled his own eyes. He was pleased to discover this reaction was pain-free. "So, why are _you_ here?"

Edward stared at him, confused, then hurt, by the words. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No!" he protested, horrified by the thought. "No, I meant, why does my mother think you're here? I need to have my story straight before she gets back."

"Oh. Well, Carlisle, Alice, and I drove after you, trying to convince you to come back to Forks." His wide eyes were so earnest and sincere that Beau almost believed it himself. "You agreed to come back with me, so we decided to drive back together, until another car struck us on the driver's side at an intersection. Hit and run. Hence, my sling—I was in the passenger seat."

"There are a few flaws with that story. Like Big Red isn't even here."

"Not really," he said. "We towed back from Phoenix. Rosalie had a little too much fun fabricating evidence for the story."

"I'm sure she did," Beau grumbled. He pictured her taking a golf club to his poor, innocent truck and winced.

"It's all been taken care of very convincingly," Edward promised, stroking his cheek with the lightest of touches. "You have nothing to worry about. Your only job now is to heal."

Beau wasn't so lost to the soreness or the fog of medication that he didn't respond to his touch. The beeping of the monitor jumped around erratically. Now Edward wasn't the only one who could hear Beau's heart misbehave.

"That's going to be embarrassing."

"Hmm, I wonder . . . "

Edward leaned in slowly. The beeping accelerated wildly before their lips even touched. But when they did, with the gentlest of pressure, the beeping stopped altogether. He pulled back abruptly, the anxious expression turning to relief as the monitor reported the restarting of Beau's heart.

"It seems that I'm going to have to be even more careful with you than usual."

"I was not finished kissing you," Beau complained. "Don't make me come over there."

Edward grinned, bending to kiss him again, pulling away when the monitor went wild.

"I think I hear your mother."

"Don't leave me," Beau cried out, an irrational surge of panic flooding through him. He couldn't let him go—Edward might disappear again.

"I won't," Edward promised. "I'll take a nap."

Beau watched him move to a recliner at the foot of the bed. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and then became perfectly still.

"Don't forget to breathe," Beau whispered sarcastically.

He could hear Renée now. She was talking to someone in the hallway, maybe a nurse, and sounded tired. Upset. Beau knew how difficult it was for her to be back at his bedside again. Beau wanted to jump up and run to her, to calm her, and promise that everything was fine. But he wasn't in any sort of shape for jumping, so he waited impatiently.

The door opened a crack, and a pair of blue eyes peeked through.

"Mom!"

His mother took in Edward's still form on the recliner, and tiptoed to the head of the bed. "He never leaves, does he?"

"Mom, I'm so glad to see you!"

Renée bent down to hug him gently. He felt warm tears on his face, but he wasn't sure who they belonged to.

"Beau, I was so upset!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. But everything's fine now, it's okay."

"I'm just glad to finally see your eyes open," his mother said, smoothing a curl back from his forehead.

"How _long_ have they been closed?"

"It's Friday, hon, you've been out for a while."

"Friday?" Beau was shocked. He tried to remember what day it had been when . . . but he didn't want to think about that.

"They had to keep you sedated for awhile, honey—you've got a lot of injuries."

Did he ever; Beau could feel them now.

"You're lucky Dr. Cullen was in the city. He's such a nice man . . . very young, though. And he looks more like a model than a doctor . . . "

"You met Carlisle?"

"And Edward's sister, Alice. She's a lovely girl."

"She is," Beau agreed wholeheartedly.

Renée glanced over her shoulder at Edward. "You didn't tell me you had such good friends in Forks."

Beau cringed, then moaned. His nose was definitely broken.

"What hurts?" his mother demanded anxiously. Edward's eyes flashed to his face.

"It's fine," Beau assured them. "I just have to remember not to move."

He took advantage of her momentary distraction to keep the subject from returning to his less-than-candid behavior. "Where's Phil?"

"Still in Florida—oh, Beau! You'll never guess! Just when we were about to leave, the best news!"

"Phil got signed?"

"Yes! The Suns, can you believe it?"

"That's great, Mom," Beau said enthusiastically as he could manage. He had no idea what that meant.

"And you'll like Jacksonville so much," she gushed. "I was a little bit worried when Phil started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because you know how I hate the cold, but now Jacksonville! It's always sunny, and the humidity really isn't _that_ bad. We found the cutest house, yellow, with white trim, and a porch just like in an old movie, and this huge oak tree, and it's just a few minutes from the ocean, and you'll have your own bathroom—"

"Wait, Mom," Beau interrupted her. Edward still had his eyes closed, but he was too tense to pass as asleep. "What are you talking about? I'm not going to Florida. I live in Forks."

"But you don't have to anymore, silly. Phil will be able to be around so much more now . . . we've talked about it a lot, and what I'm going to do is trade off on the away games, half the time with you, half the time with him."

"Mom." Beau hesitated, wondering how best to be diplomatic about this. "I _want_ to live in Forks. I'm already settled in at school, and I have friends, and Charlie needs me. He's just all alone up there, and he can't cook _at all_."

"You want to stay in Forks?" The idea was inconceivable to his mother; it was only intended to be a temporary thing. Then her eyes flickered back to Edward. "I understand you'd be adverse to Phoenix, but why Forks?"

"I told you—school, Charlie—ouch!" He'd shrugged. Not a good idea.

"Beau, honey, you hate Forks."

"It's not so bad."

She frowned, her eyes flickering between him and Edward, this time very deliberately. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is it this boy?"

"He's part of it," Beau admitted, knowing her keen eyes would see through a lie. "Have you had a chance to talk with Edward?"

"Yes, and I want to talk to you about that."

"What about?" he asked.

"I think that boy is in love with you."

"I think so, too," Beau confessed, his face reddening.

"And how do you feel about him?" The curiosity was obvious in her voice.

Beau sighed and looked away. As much as he loved his mother, this was not a conversation he wanted to have with her now, covered in plaster and wires. He decided on a normal-teenager-with-a-boyfriend response. "Well . . . I'm pretty crazy about him."

"Well, he _seems _very nice, and my goodness, he's incredibly good-looking, but you're so young, Beau . . . "

Beau raised his eyebrows. It was the first time since he was eight that she'd come close to sounding like a parental authority. This needed a delicate response.

"I know that, Mom. Don't worry about it. It's just a crush."

"That's right," she agreed, easily pleased. Then she sighed and glanced guiltily over her shoulder at the big, round clock on the wall.

"Do you need to go?"

She bit her lip. "Phil's supposed to call in a little while . . . I didn't know you were going to wake up . . . "

"No problem, Mom. I won't be alone."

"I'll be back soon. I've been sleeping here, you know." She was proud of herself.

"Oh, Mom, you don't have to do that! I'll never notice." The swirl of painkillers was making it hard to concentrate.

"I was too nervous." Her expression was sheepish. "There's been some crime in the area."

"Crime?"

"Someone broke into your school and burned down the gym! Between that and the hit-and-run . . ."

Beau shivered, and winced. "Wow."

"I can stay, baby, if you need me."

"No, Mom, I'll be fine. Edward will be with me."

That might have been the reason she wanted to stay. "I'll be back tonight."

It was a warning as much as a promise, and she glanced at Edward again as she said it.

"I love you, Mom. And hey, if Dad's around, can you send him in?"

"Of course. I love you, too, Beau. Try to be more careful when you drive, honey, I don't want to lose you."

Edward's eyes stayed closed, but a wide grin flashed across his face. A nurse came bustling in then to check Beau's vitals. Renée kissed his forehead, patted his gauze-wrapped hand, and left.

The nurse studied the paper readout on the heart monitor. "Are you feeling anxious, honey? Your heart rate got a little high there."

"I'm fine," Beau assured her.

"I'll tell your RN that you're awake. She'll be in to see you in a minute."

Edward's eyes flashed open when she left. But before he could move, Charlie was coming through the door, and the eyes closed again.

"Dad!"

"Beau," Charlie breathed, hurrying to his side. He moved to touch him, paused, then sank into another chair beside the bed. He had a five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. Beau felt fresh tears brewing at the sight of Charlie safe and sound.

"Dad," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Charlie was already shaking his head. "No, Beau. Forget about it. It's behind us."

"No!" Beau blurted out as he tried to sit up. Then he moaned and sank back against the pillows. Both Charlie and Edward were staring at him anxiously.

"Dad, please, let me apologize. I owe you an explanation."

Charlie sighed, carefully took his gauze-wrapped hand, and waited.

"I didn't mean any of it," Beau told him. "I knew you wouldn't let me go, so I had to hurt you. I'm sorry about that, and I'm sorry for leaving. I won't do anything like that again."

His father looked uncomfortable. "Well . . . thank you. It did hurt me. But I forgive you."

"Don't forgive me yet, Dad. Ground me or something, I deserve it."

"You're already grounded here," Charlie pointed out, a smile quirking on his lips. "You'll be in this bed for about the same amount of time as your sentence."

"Time served," Beau muttered, and they both laughed. It was nice to laugh with his dad again, even if it hurt to do it.

"Will you tell me, Beau? Next time I say or do something to upset you . . . just don't run off again."

"You've been wonderful, Dad," Beau assured him, squeezing his hand with all his strength. "I'm not leaving Forks anytime soon."

That appeared to mollify him. "Good. I'm just going to step out and call Billy—he's been very worried about you."

"Tell Jacob I say hello, and that I'll need a mechanic soon."

"I'm going to find that driver," Charlie promised. "When I do, I'm taking him to court."

Edward was at his side as soon as the door closed. Beau was nearly bursting with questions.

"You burned down the gym?"

He smiled, unrepentant, reaching to stroke Beau's cheek. "Now it's gone forever, and those bad memories with it. Dust."

"How was your nap?"

"Interesting." His eyes narrowed.

"What?"

Edward looked away when he answered. "I'm surprised. I thought Florida . . . and your mother . . . well, I thought that's what you would want."

"But you'd be stuck inside all day in Florida. You'd only be able to come out at night, just like a real vampire."

Edward was grave. "I would stay in Forks, Beau. Or somewhere like it. Someplace where I couldn't hurt you anymore."

It didn't sink in at first. Beau continued to stare at him blankly as the words, one by one, clicked into place like an awful puzzle. He was barely conscious of the monitor as his breathing escalated to hyperventilation. His ribs ached in protest.

Edward didn't say anything; he watched as the pain that had nothing to do with broken bones, pain that was infinitely worse, threatened to crush Beau.

And then another nurse walked purposefully into the room. Edward sat still as stone as she took in Beau's state with a practiced eye.

"Time for more pain meds, sweetheart?" she asked kindly, tapping the IV feed.

"No, no," Beau mumbled, trying to keep the agony out of his voice. "I don't need anything."

"No need to be brave, honey. It's better if you don't get too stressed out; you need rest."

Beau shook his head until she sighed. "Okay. Hit the call button when you're ready."

The nurse gave Edward a stern look before she left. Once she was gone, his cool hands went to Beau's face, which was twisted in agony.

"Ssh, Beau, calm down."

"If you want to go," he forced out. "Then go ahead. But I'm begging you not to. _Please_ don't go."

"I won't," Edward promised. "Now relax before I call the nurse back to sedate you."

His heart refused to slow. This made Edward even more anxious. His cool hand cradled Beau's face softly.

"Beau, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."

"Do you swear you won't leave me?" Beau whispered. His ribs were throbbing with the effort to hold it together.

Edward's eyes were wide and serious. "I swear."

The smell of his breath was soothing. Beau followed along with the rhythm until his own breathing was under control. Edward waited until Beau's body relaxed and the beeping returned to normal.

"Better?"

"Yes," he said cautiously.

Edward shook his head and muttered something unintelligible. One word was definitely "overreaction."

"Why did you say that? Are you tired of having to save me all the time? Do you _want_ me to go away?"

"No, I don't want to be without you, Beau, of course not. Be rational. And I have no problem with saving you, either—if it weren't for the fact that I was the one putting you in danger . . . that I'm the reason you're here."

"Yes, you are the reason." Beau frowned. "The reason I'm here—_alive_."

"Barely." His voice was just a whisper. "Covered in gauze and plaster and hardly able to move."

"I wasn't referring to my most recent near-death experience," Beau snapped. "I was thinking of the others—you can take your pick. If it weren't for you, I would be rotting away in the Forks cemetery by now."

Edward winced at the words, but the haunted look didn't leave his eyes.

"That's not the worst part, though. Not seeing you there on the floor . . . crumpled and broken. Not thinking I was too late. Not even hearing you scream in pain—all those unbearable memories that I'll carry with me for the rest of eternity. No, the very worst was feeling . . . knowing that I couldn't stop. Believing that I was going to kill you myself."

Beau was certain. "But you didn't."

"I could have. So easily."

Beau knew he needed to stay calm . . . but Edward was trying to talk himself into leaving, and the panic returned, fluttering in his lungs like a trapped bird and trying to get out.

"Promise me."

"What?"

"You know what." He was starting to get angry now. Edward was so determined to dwell on the negative.

Edward heard the change in his tone. "I don't seem to be strong enough to stay away from you, so I suppose that you'll get your way . . . whether it kills you or not," he added roughly.

"Good." He hadn't promised, though—a fact that Beau had not missed. The panic was only barely contained; he had no strength left to control the anger. "You told me how you stopped . . . now I want to know why."

"Why?"

"_Why_ you did it," Beau demanded. "Why didn't you just let the venom spread? By now I would just like you."

Edward's eyes seemed to turn a flat black, and Beau remembered that this was something he never intended Beau to know. Alice must have been preoccupied by the things she learned about herself . . . or she'd been very careful with her thoughts around him. Clearly Edward had no idea she had filled him in on the mechanics of vampire conversions.

"I'll be the first to admit that I have no experience with relationships," Beau said. "But it just seems logical that both men have to be somewhat equal . . . as in, one of them can't always be swooping in and saving the other one. They have to save each other _equally_."

Edward rested his chin on his arms. His expression was smooth, the anger reined in, evidently not angry—with Beau at least. Beau hoped he'd get a chance to warn Alice before Edward caught up to her.

"You _have_ saved me."

"I can't always be Jimmy Olsen," Beau insisted. "I want to be Superman, too. And not Mike Newton's type of Superman."

"You don't know what you're asking." His voice was soft.

"I think I do."

"Beau, you _don't_. I've had almost ninety years to think about this, and I'm still not sure."

"Do you wish that Carlisle hadn't saved you?"

"No, I don't wish that," Edward paused. "But my life was over. I wasn't giving anything up."

"You _are_ my life. You're the only thing it would hurt me to lose."

Edward was very calm, though. Decided.

"I can't do it, Beau. I won't do that to you."

"Why not?" His voice was raspy from days under sedation, and he couldn't get up to the volume he wanted. "Don't tell me it's too hard! After today, or I guess it was a few days ago . . . anyway, after _that_, it should be nothing."

Edward glared at him. "And the pain?"

Beau blanched at the thought; he couldn't help it. But he tried to keep his expression from showing how clearly he remembered that feeling . . . the fire in his veins.

"That's my problem. I can handle it."

"It's possible to take bravery to the point where it becomes insanity."

"It's not an issue," Beau insisted. "Three days. Big deal."

Edward grimaced again, reminded that Beau was more informed than he had ever intended him to be. His red eyes became speculative.

"What about Charlie? Or Renée?"

Beau opened his mouth but no sound came out. He closed it again. Edward waited, his expression becoming more and more triumphant, knowing that Beau had no true answer.

"Look, that's not an issue either," he finally muttered. It was unconvincing. "Renée has always made the choices that work for her—she'd want me to do the same. And Charlie's resilient, he's used to being on his own. I can't take care of them forever. I have my own life to live."

"_Exactly_. And I won't end it for you."

"If you're waiting for me to be on my deathbed, I've got news for you! I was just there!"

"You're going to recover," Edward reminded him.

Beau took a deep breath to calm down, ignoring the spasm of pain it triggered. They stared at each other in silence. There was no compromise on either face.

"No, I'm not."

"Of course you are. You may have a scar or two . . . "

"You're wrong," Beau insisted. "I'm going to die."

"Really, Beau." He was anxious again. "You'll be out of here in a few days. Two weeks at the most."

"I may not die now . . . but I'm going to die sometime," Beau hissed. "Every minute of every day, I get closer. And I'm going to get _old_."

Edward pressed his fingers to his temples as if trying to banish a migraine. "That's how it's supposed to happen. How it should happen. How it would have happened if I didn't exist—and _I shouldn't exist_."

Beau snorted. "That's stupid. That's like going to someone who's just won the lottery, taking their money, and saying, 'Look, let's just go back to how things should be. It's better that way.' And I'm not buying it."

"I'm hardly a lottery prize," Edward growled.

"That's right. You're much better."

"Beau, we're not having this discussion anymore. I refuse to damn you to an eternity of night and that's the end of it."

"To some people in this world, I'm already damned," Beau chuckled, knowing it aggravated Edward even more. "And if you think that's the end, you don't know me very well. You're not the only vampire in my life."

His eyes went black again. "Alice wouldn't dare."

For the moment he looked so frightening that Beau had to believe it. He couldn't imagine someone brave enough to cross Edward.

"Alice already saw it, didn't she? That's what she said in the gym. She said, 'so this is how it happens.' That's why the things she sees upset you. She knows I'm going to be like you . . . someday."

"She's wrong," Edward shook his head so fast it blurred. "She also saw you dead, but that didn't happen, either."

Beau shrugged even though it hurt. "You'll never catch _me_ betting against Alice."

The two stared at each other for a very long time. It was quiet except for the whirring of machines, the beeping, the dripping, the ticking of the big clock on the wall. Finally, Edward's expression softened.

"So where does that leave us?" Beau asked.

"I believe it's called an _impasse_."

"Ouch," Beau muttered, not just from the pain.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he lied.

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not going back to sleep." Beau was sure he would leave.

"You need rest. All this arguing isn't good for you."

"So give in," Beau hinted, watching him reach for the call button.

"Nice try."

"No!"

Edward ignored him.

"Yes?" the speaker on the wall squawked.

"I think we're ready for more pain medication," Edward said, ignoring the furious eyes on him.

"I'll send in the nurse." The voice sounded very bored.

"I won't take it," Beau promised.

Edward looked at the fluids hanging beside the bed. "I don't think they're going to ask you to swallow anything."

The monitor started to beep louder. Edward sighed in frustration.

"Beau, you're in pain. You need to relax so you can heal. Why are you being so difficult? They're not going to put any more needles in you now."

"I'm not afraid of the needles," Beau mumbled. "I'm afraid to close my eyes."

Then Edward smiled his crooked smile, and he took Beau's face in his hands. "I told you I'm not going anywhere. Don't be afraid. As long as it makes you happy, I'll be here."

Beau smiled back, ignoring the aches. "You're talking about forever, you know."

"Oh, you'll get over it—it's just a crush."

"I was shocked when Renée swallowed that one. I know _you_ know better."

"That's the beautiful thing about being human," Edward told him. "Things change."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't hold your breath."

He was still laughing when the nurse came in, brandishing a syringe.

"Excuse me," she said brusquely to Edward.

He got up and leaned against the wall, waiting. Beau kept his eyes on him, still apprehensive. Edward met his gaze calmly.

"Here you go, honey, you'll feel better now."

"Thanks," Beau mumbled, unenthused. It didn't take long. He could feel the drowsiness coming on almost immediately.

"That ought to do it," the nurse muttered as his eyelids drooped. She must have left the room, because something cold and smooth touched his face.

"Stay." The word was slurred.

"I will," Edward promised. His voice was beautiful, like a lullaby. "Like I said, as long as it makes you happy . . . as long as it's what's best for you."

"'S not the same thing."

"Don't worry about that now, Beau. You can argue with me when you wake up."

Beau thought he smiled. "Okay."

"I love you," Edward whispered.

"Me, too."

"I know."

Beau turned his head slightly . . . searching. Edward knew what he was after. He kissed him gently.

"Thanks," Beau sighed.

"Anytime."

Beau wasn't really there anymore. But he fought against the stupor weakly. There was just one more thing he wanted to tell Edward.

"Edward?" Beau struggled to pronounce his name clearly.

"Yes?"

"I'm betting on Alice," he mumbled.

And then the night closed over him again.

* * *

**A/N**: When I first planned this story, I thought back to when _Life and Death_ was announced. What a great opportunity for Stephenie to play with her own mythology, and she did! Beau became a vampire at the end. A few of you thought this might happen here, and for a couple days, I considered tossing this chapter and the next one. But I went back to my original plan. I'm eager to continue the saga with my Beau Swan, especially considering Renesmee is not a factor here.

And so I plan to work on a _New Moon_ AU as well, but one that greatly deviates from the original. I felt compelled to closely follow _Twilight_ to set this up. No promises on when this AU will come out, but I'm very excited to get started.

I want to thank all of you for taking this ride with me. When I published this, COVID-19 was quietly gaining ground around the world. Halfway through, it hit my family personally. Let me say that your reviews and the consistent posting schedule helped keep me afloat. Thank you - as always, thank you all for coming back every week.

One more thing - I mentioned some side projects a few weeks ago. Happy to say that one has developed into something longer than I anticipated. Hoping to publish that in the next few months.

Have a safe week everyone - see you next Sunday for the epilogue.


	20. The Prom

Edward helped Beau into his car, mindful of the suit and bulky walking cast. He ignored the latter's sulking and returned to the driver's seat. Trees whizzed past them as he drove, always too fast, down the long, narrow drive. Thankfully, he brought the car up to the front door so Beau didn't have to look at the still-demolished Mercedes.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Beau asked grumpily.

He hated surprises. Edward knew that perfectly well.

"I'm shocked that you haven't figured it out yet." Edward threw a mocking smile in his direction, and Beau felt the breath catch in his throat. Would he ever get used to his perfection?

"I did mention that you looked very nice, didn't I?"

"Yes." He grinned again. Beau had never seen Edward dress in black before, and with the contrast against his pale skin, his beauty was absolutely surreal. That was undeniable, even if the fact he was wearing a tuxedo made Beau very nervous.

Not quite as nervous as his own tuxedo. It was the most expensive thing Beau had ever worn, and combined with the walking cast, he was sure some tragedy would inevitably befall it. That was just his luck nowadays.

"I'm not coming over anymore if Alice is going to treat me like a Ken doll when I do."

Beau had spent the better part of the day in Alice's staggeringly vast bedroom, a helpless victim as she measured, tailored, and fitted him in an off-the-rack suit she'd bought earlier this morning. He peeked at the tag—Hugo Boss—and nearly passed out at the pricetag, which was still attached.

Whenever he complained, Alice reminded him that she didn't have any memories of being human, and asked him not to ruin her fun. He felt too guilty about destroying the videotape to refuse her, even knowing Edward saw the pertinent information from James's mind before they killed him.

Nothing good could come out of their formal attire, Beau was sure of that. Unless . . . but he was afraid to put his suspicions into words, even in his own head.

Beau was distracted by the sound of a phone ringing. Edward pulled his cell phone from a pocket inside his jacket, looking briefly at the caller ID before answering.

"Hello, Charlie," he said warily.

Beau raised his eyebrows. "_Charlie?_"

Charlie had been . . . difficult during Beau's recovery. He had compartmentalized the bad experience into two defined reactions. Toward Carlisle he was almost worshipfully grateful. On the other hand, he was stubbornly convinced that Edward was at fault—because, if not for him, Beau wouldn't have left home in the first place. And Edward was far from disagreeing with him. These days Beau had rules that hadn't existed before: curfews . . . visiting hours.

Something Charlie was saying made Edward's eyes widen in disbelief. A grin spread across his face.

"You're kidding!" he laughed.

"What is it?" Beau demanded.

"Why don't you let me talk to her?" Edward suggested with evident pleasure. He waited for a few seconds.

"Hello, Lauren, this is Edward Cullen." His voice was very friendly on the surface, but Beau knew it well enough to catch the soft edge of menace underneath. What was Lauren doing at his house? The awful truth began to dawn on him. He looked down at the suit Alice had forced him into with mounting dread.

"I'm sorry if there's been some kind of miscommunication, but Beau is unavailable tonight. To be perfectly honest, he'll be unavailable every night, as far as anyone besides myself is concerned. No offense. And I'm sorry about your evening." He didn't sound sorry at all. And then he snapped the phone shut, a huge smirk on his face.

Beau knew his face and neck were flushed crimson with anger. Edward looked surprised by this reaction.

"Was that last part too much? I didn't mean to offend you."

"First, she doesn't know I'm _gay_? Second, you're taking me to _the prom_!" Beau yelled.

It was embarrassingly obvious to him now. If he had been paying any attention at all, Beau was sure he would have noticed the date on the posters that decorated the school. But he never dreamed that Edward would subject him to this. Didn't he know him at all?

"Don't be difficult, Beau."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Edward gestured to his own tuxedo. "Honestly, Beau, what did you think we were doing?"

Beau was mortified. His vague suspicions—expectations, really—that he had been forming all day as Alice poked and prodded were so far wide of the mark. His half-fearful hopes seemed very silly now.

Beau guessed there was some kind of occasion brewing. _But prom_! That was the furthest thing from his mind.

"This is completely ridiculous. Why are you crying?" Edward demanded in frustration.

"Because I'm _mad_!"

"Beau." He turned on the full force of his scorching golden eyes before Beau knew what was happening.

"What?"

"Humor me."

His eyes were melting all the fury. It was impossible to fight with him when he cheated like that. Beau gave in with poor grace.

"Fine, I'll go quietly. But you'll see. I'm way overdue for more bad luck. I'll probably break my other leg. This suit should be made out of gold for what it costs!"

Edward stared at him for way longer than necessary. "Remind me to thank Alice for that tonight."

"Alice is going to be there?"

"With Jasper, and Emmett . . . and Rosalie," he admitted.

Beau slouched in his seat. There had been no progress with Rosalie, especially when he saw what she did to Big Red in the name of "evidence" of the alleged car crash. He was on good terms with her sometimes-husband. Emmett enjoyed having him around—he thought Beau's bizarre human reactions were hilarious . . . or maybe it was just the fact Beau had fallen down a lot during physical therapy and he found it funny. Rosalie acted like he didn't exist. While Beau shook his head to dispel the direction his thoughts had taken, he remembered something else.

"Is Charlie in on this?"

"Of course," Edward grinned. "Apparently Lauren wasn't, though."

Beau gritted his teeth. How Lauren could be so delusional, he couldn't imagine. At school, where Charlie couldn't interfere, he and Edward were inseparable, except on those rare sunny days.

They were at the elementary school now; Rosalie's red convertible was conspicuous in the staff parking lot. Edward got out and walked around the car to open the door, holding out his hand, but Beau remained stubbornly seated. The lot was crowded with people in formal dress: witnesses. Edward couldn't remove him forcibly from the car as he might have if they were alone.

"When someone wants to kill you, you're brave as a lion—and when someone mentions dancing . . . " He shook his head.

Beau gulped. Dancing. With a walking cast _and_ a crutch. Ridiculous.

"Beau, I won't let anything hurt you—not even yourself. I won't let go of you once, I promise."

Beau thought about that and suddenly felt much better.

"There, now," Edward said gently. "It won't be so bad."

Beau put the crutch in his right hand and let Edward support his left side, shoulder to shoulder, the way they had done after blood typing in Biology so many weeks ago.

In Phoenix, they held proms in hotel ballrooms. This dance was in the gym at Forks Elementary due to the mysterious fire at the high school. When they got inside, Beau laughed. There were actual balloon arches and twisted garlands everywhere. Everything was in a pastel shade.

"This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen."

"Well, there are _more_ than enough vampires present."

It was true. His siblings were holding court in the center of the dance floor, radiant, whirling gracefully with each other. Beau pitied everyone in the room, including himself, to be compared to their brilliance.

"Do you want me to bolt the doors so you can massacre the unsuspecting townsfolk?"

Edward glared at him. "And where do you fit in that scheme?"

"Oh, I'm with the vampires, of course."

He smiled reluctantly. "Anything to get out of dancing."

"Anything."

Edward bought their tickets, then turned him toward the dance floor. Beau leaned hard against the crutch to drag his feet.

"I've got all night," Edward warned.

Eventually he towed Beau out to where his family was twirling elegantly.

"Edward," he moaned, brandishing the crutch like a weapon until Edward handed it off to Emmett, who grinned as he passed by. "I honestly can't dance like this."

"Don't worry, silly, I can."

Somehow Edward managed to make them whirl, too. Beau laughed after a few minutes of effortless waltzing.

"I feel like I'm five years old."

Edward leaned in on the pretense of adjusting Beau's tie, a royal blue that matched his Mariners cap, which sadly had been lost in the fire.

"You don't look five."

Alice caught his eye on a turn and smiled in encouragement. Beau smiled back. He was surprised to realize that he was actually enjoying himself . . . a little.

"Okay, this isn't half bad."

"May I cut in?"

The two turned to look and found Angela waiting shyly. Edward and Ben Cheney looked at each other, chuckled, and went off in search of punch.

"You look great, Ang."

"Thanks," she smiled, her hands on his shoulders. "So do you."

"I'm sorry I'm not much in the dance department," he laughed as they spun in one spot. "Edward's much better at it."

"Don't worry about it. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"What for?" Beau asked. Angela looked embarrassed.

"I was sneaking around with Ben," she confessed, stealing a glance at the punch table. Her date was gesturing a lot and appeared to be showing Edward kung fu moves he learned from a movie. To his credit, Edward was listening very intently. "I wasn't around much when you came out and I feel bad about it. I'm really sorry."

"Ang," Beau smiled, squeezing her shoulders for a moment. "I'm good. We're good. Everything's good."

"Good," Angela repeated, relieved. "I'm glad."

Edward and Ben returned with glasses of punch. Beau sipped his gratefully as Ben and Angela disappeared, giggling amongst themselves. Beau laughed too until he saw Edward's angry expression. He was looking past Beau to the gymnasium doors, where Jacob Black, hair smoothed back into his usual ponytail, was crossing the floor toward them.

Beau couldn't help but feel bad for Jacob. He was clearly uncomfortable—no tuxedo, surrounded by a class that was not his own, and clearly on a mission he did not want to complete. His eyes were apologetic as he approached. Edward snarled very quietly.

"Behave," Beau hissed.

"He wants to chat with you."

"Hey, Beau, I was hoping you'd be here." Jacob sounded like he'd been hoping for the exact opposite. Despite his evident embarrassment, his smile was as warm as ever.

"Hi Jacob." Beau smiled back. "What's up?"

"Can I cut in?" he asked tentatively, glancing at Edward for the first time. Beau was shocked to notice that Jacob didn't have to look up at either of them. He must have grown half a foot since the last time Beau saw him.

Edward took the punch glass and stepped back to allow Jacob to take his place.

"Thanks."

Beau scowled when Edward walked away without a word. They really had to work on his rudeness.

"Wow, Jake, you're almost as tall as me now."

"Almost," Jacob said smugly.

"So, how did you end up here tonight?" Beau considered Edward's reaction and had some ideas cooking already.

"Can you believe my dad paid me twenty bucks to come to your prom?" Jacob asked.

"Yes, I can," Beau muttered. "Well, I hope you're enjoying yourself, at least. Seen anything you like?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But he's taken."

Jacob met his curious glaze for a second before they both looked away, embarrassed. "You look really great, by the way. Very James Bond."

Beau reddened. "Um, thanks. So why did Billy pay you to come here?"

Jacob looked away, uncomfortable again. "He said it was a 'safe' place to talk to you. I swear the old man is losing his mind. Anyway, he said that if I told you something, he would get me that master cylinder I need."

"Tell me then," Beau grinned. "I want you to get your car finished."

At least Jacob didn't believe any of this. It made the situation a bit easier. Against the wall, Edward was watching them, his own face expressionless. A sophomore in a pink dress was eyeing him with timid speculation, but he ignored her completely.

"Don't get mad, okay?"

"There's no way I'll be mad at you, Jacob. I won't even be mad at Billy. Just say what you have to say."

"Well—this is so stupid, I'm sorry, Beau—he wants you to break up with your boyfriend. He asked me to tell you 'please.'" Jacob shook his head in disgust.

"Still superstitious, huh?"

"Yeah. He was . . . kind of over the top when you got hurt. He didn't believe . . . " he trailed off self-consciously.

Beau's eyes narrowed. "It was a car accident."

"I know that."

"He thinks Edward had something to do with me getting hurt." It wasn't a question, and despite his promise, Beau was angry.

Jacob wouldn't meet his eyes. They weren't even swaying to the music, though Jacob's hands were still on his waist, and Beau's were around Jacob's neck.

"Look, Jacob, I know Billy probably won't believe this, but just so you know, Edward saved my life. If it weren't for Edward and his father, I'd be dead."

"I know."

"Hey, I'm sorry you had to come do this, Jacob," Beau apologized. "At any rate, you get your parts, right?"

"Yeah." He still looked awkward . . . upset.

"There's more?"

"Forget it," Jacob mumbled. "I'll get a job and save the money myself."

Beau glared at him. "Just spit it out, Jacob."

"It's so bad."

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Okay . . . but geez, this sounds bad." He shook his head. "He said to tell you, no, to _warn_ you, that—and this is his plural, not mine—'We'll be watching.'"

It sounded like something from a mafia movie. Beau laughed out loud.

"I'm sorry you had to do this, Jake."

"I don't mind _that_ much," Jacob grinned as his dark eyes appraised the tuxedo again. "So, should I tell him you said to butt the hell out?"

"No," Beau sighed. "Tell him I said thanks. I know he means well."

The song ended, and Beau dropped his arms. Jacob's hands hesitated on his waist. "Do you want to dance again? Or I can help you get somewhere?"

Edward answered for him. "That's all right, Jacob. I'll take it from here."

Jacob flinched, staring wide-eyed at Edward, who appeared as if from nowhere.

"Hey, I didn't see you there," he mumbled. "I guess I'll see you around, Beau."

Beau smiled. "Yeah, I'll see you later. Don't forget, I need a mechanic for Big Red."

"Sorry," Jacob repeated before he turned for the door.

Edward's arms wound around Beau as the next song started. It was a little fast for slow dancing, but that didn't seem to concern him. Beau leaned against him, content.

"Feeling better?"

"Not really," Edward said tersely.

"Don't be mad at Billy. He just worries about me for Charlie's sake. It's nothing personal."

"I'm not mad at Billy," Edward corrected him. "But his son is irritating me."

Beau pulled back to look at him. His face was deadly serious.

"Why?"

"First of all, he made me break my promise."

Beau stared at him in confusion. Edward half-smiled.

"I promised I wouldn't let go of you tonight."

"Oh. Well, I forgive you."

"Thanks. But there's something else." Edward frowned. "He said you looked _great_. That's practically an insult, the way you look right now. You're much more than handsome."

Beau laughed. "You might be a little biased."

"I don't think that's it. Besides, I have excellent eyesight."

They were twirling again. "So are you going to explain the reason for all of this?"

Edward watched him glare at the crepe paper, thought a moment, then spun Beau through the crowd to the back door of the gym. He caught a glimpse of Jessica and Mike, staring at them curiously; Angela, looking blissfully happy in Ben's arms; Coach Clapp and Mr. Banner standing shoulder-to-shoulder like gargoyles, closer together than Beau would have imagined to be platonic.

Beau could name every face that spiraled past him. And then they were outdoors, in the cool, dim light of a fading sunset.

As soon as they were alone, Edward swung him up into his arms, carrying him across the dark grounds to a bench shadowed by madrone trees. He placed Beau in his lap, taking care to support the cast. The moon was already up, visible through the gauzy clouds, and both boys were pale in the white light.

"The point?"

Edward stared up at the moon. "Twilight, again. Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end."

"Some things don't have to end," Beau said through his teeth. He was already tense.

"I brought you to the prom," Edward said slowly, finally answering his question, "Because I don't want you to miss anything. I don't want my presence to take anything away from you, if I can help it. I want you to be _human_. I want your life to continue as it would have if I'd died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have."

Beau shook his head angrily. "In what strange parallel dimension would I _ever_ have gone to prom of my own free will? If you weren't a thousand times stronger than me, I would have never let you get away with this."

"It wasn't so bad, you said so yourself."

"That's because I was with you."

They were quiet for a minute. Edward stared at the moon and Beau stared at him. He wished there was some way to explain how very uninterested he was in a normal human life.

"Will you tell me something?"

"Don't I always?"

"Just promise you'll tell me," Edward insisted, grinning.

"Fine."

"You seemed honestly surprised when you figured out that I was taking you here," he began.

"I _was._"

"Exactly," Edward agreed. "But you must have had some other theory . . . I'm curious—what did you _think_ I was dressing you up for?"

Beau knew he would regret it. "I don't want to tell you."

"You promised," Edward objected.

"I know."

"What's the problem?"

Beau knew he thought it was mere embarrassment holding him back. "I think it will make you mad—or sad."

"I still want to know. Please?"

"Well . . . " Beau sighed. "I assumed it was some kind of . . . occasion. But I didn't think it would be some trite human thing . . . like prom."

"Human?" Edward asked flatly.

Beau looked away, tugging at the tie at his neck, uncomfortable. "Okay, so I was hoping that you might have changed your mind . . . that you were going to change me, after all."

A dozen emotions played across his face. Some Beau recognized: anger . . . pain . . . and then he seemed to collect himself and become amused.

"You thought that would be a black tie occasion, did you?" Edward teased, reaching over to fix the crumpled blue tie.

Beau scowled to hide his embarrassment. "I don't know how these things work. To me, at least, it seems more rational than prom does . . . it's _not_ funny!"

"No, you're right, it's not." The smile faded. "I'd rather treat it like a joke, though, than believe you're serious."

"But I am serious."

Edward sighed deeply. "I know. And you're really that willing?"

The pain was back in his eyes. Beau bit his lip and nodded.

"So you're ready for this to be the end," Edward murmured, almost to himself. "For this to be the twilight of your life, though your life has barely started. You're ready to give up everything."

"It's not the end, it's the beginning."

Edward was sad. "I'm not worth it."

"Do you remember when you told me that I didn't see myself very clearly?" Beau prompted him. "You obviously have the same blindness."

"I know what I am."

Mercurial as always, Edward pursed his lips, examining Beau's face for a long moment.

"You're ready now, then?"

"Um." Beau gulped. "Yes?"

Edward smiled and inclined his head until his cold lips brushed the skin just under Beau's jaw.

"Right now?" Edward whispered.

"Yes," Beau whispered, shivering at the chill, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't break. If Edward thought he was bluffing, he was going to be disappointed. Beau already made this decision and he was sure. It didn't matter that his body had gone rigid, hands balled into fists, his breathing erratic . . .

Edward chuckled darkly and leaned away. He looked disappointed. "You can't really believe that I would give in so easily."

Beau ignored the mocking tone. "A guy can dream."

"Is that really what you dream about? Being a monster?"

"Not exactly," Beau said, frowning at the word choice. Monster, indeed. "Mostly I dream about being with you forever."

Edward's expression softened, hearing, no doubt, the ache in Beau's voice.

"Beau." The cool fingers lightly traced the shape of his lips. "I _will_ stay with you—isn't that enough?"

Beau smiled under his fingertips. "Enough for now."

Edward exhaled, and the sound was practically a growl. No one was going to surrender tonight. But Beau wouldn't give in—he knew what he wanted.

"Look, I love you more than anything else in the world combined. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, it is enough," Edward answered, smiling. "Enough for forever."

And then he leaned to press his cold lips once more to Beau's throat.

* * *

**A/N**: I can't believe we're at the end! What a great ride. Like I said last week, I intend to follow up with a _New Moon_ AU in the next few months. I also have another piece I'm working on.

Thank you again to all who reviewed. It was fun to take this little journey with you. Posting every week kept me disciplined and I'm eager to get back to it soon.

Take care, everyone. My inbox is always open :)


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